


Now Cracks a Noble Heart

by senseofenterprise (the_boleyn_treatment)



Series: Now Cracks a Noble Heart [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Aziraphale is a prince and Crowley is a pirate captain, Basically a combination of princess bride and spaceballs but I managed to make it sweet, Benevolent Pirate Captain Crowley, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stuffy prince Aziraphale, captain crowley adopts children, hoards is the better word, homoerotic swordfighting, ignoring historical homophobia because I can, no beta we die like men, no particular time period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-01 17:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_boleyn_treatment/pseuds/senseofenterprise
Summary: As a second son, Prince Aziraphale was worse than useless. Every idea he has to benefit his kingdom has been shot down by his brother Gabriel, the king, and his only value is in his ability to make a marriage of alliance. On the night before he is set to marry Prince Newton at his brother's command, he sends off a note and a bag of coins.Captain Crowley has made his living sailing the seas in his ship the Bentley with his pirate band consisting of misfits and lost children. His name strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear it. When he receives anonymous orders to kidnap the Prince on the night before the royal wedding, well, how could he refuse the opportunity for madness and bringing down the nobility he hates so very much?The story of a stuffy Prince and a Pirate Captain with a heart of gold.Work inspired by and dedicated to tumblr user robinstome





	1. Prologue

Rain fell on the pavement, making it look silver in the little moonlight that slipped through the clouds. While most of the kingdom slept soundly in their beds, every candle was lit in the castle. Word was spreading quickly, starting with the highest nobles and reaching the lowest kitchen maid within an hour. When the midwives had been summoned right before dinner, a great amount of joy had swept through the palace. After years of trying and failing and waiting, their prince was finally being born. The kingdom would be secure finally, finally. But then it wasn’t. Now, in the earliest hours of the morning, the news was being told with great sadness that the prince had died, and the Queen had almost gone with him. The baby had been still, they were told, and not a single soul was left untouched by grief.

Inside his swaddling, the newborn prince stirred, threatening to cry. 

“Hush, little one,” said the witch, holding him close to her chest under her cloak out of the sight of prying eyes. There was not a soul in existence she could trust while she carried out the task she had been given by the queen. Her heart pounded in her chest as she slipped through the streets, soaked by the rain. Back up against a wall, she peeked around the corner to ensure that the coast was clear before leaving the alley and slipping down the street.

The baby began to fuss, whimpers coming through that would soon turn to wails. Agnes, the witch, offered him a finger to nurse on, knowing it was a sorry substitute for the real thing that he had been deprived of. Two hours old and he had been ripped from the breast of a loving mother and had his death commanded by his father while midwives and family looked on. The queen had pleaded for his life but knew that ultimately, her cries would be ignored by her husband. When he had stormed out she had grabbed the arm of the woman tasked with the baby’s disposal. ‘Please,’ she had cried, tears running down her face, ‘take him somewhere safe. Don’t let him die.’ And Agnes had nodded, heart filled with sorrow upon looking at the face of a woman whose last possible attempt at bringing a child into the world had gone awry. 

Her shoes clacked on the wet pavement as she approached the steps of the convent. She drew her cloak back and pulled the baby from it. He finally calmed; his tear-stained face outshone by his shocking yellow eyes.

A monster.

A demon’s child.

Living proof of a mother’s sin. 

No fit heir to any respectable kingdom and a child not to be acknowledged by any respectable king. A child fit only to be sent back to Hell from whence he came.

But a child loved by its mother who would do anything to save it, and a child pitied by a witch who took it upon herself to make sure he was carefully tucked away where he could be safe. 

Agnes laid the child on the convent step, making sure to mind the head covered in a dusting of bright red curls. She tightened the blanket he was swaddled in, running her fingers over the silver thread where “Anthony” had been embroidered by a loving mother. Heart pounding in her ears, she knocked hard on the door twice, and she ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the prologue, future chapters will be longer <3


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Aziraphale, the night before he is to enter a loveless marriage, decides to take his fate into his own hands. Nearby, a notorious pirate captain receives a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For AU's sake, Aziraphale and Crowley are both younger than their TV projections. Both are in their late 20s.

The noise coming from the great hall was deafening. Guests from every kingdom within traveling distance were sitting at tables eating, drinking, and laughing. Great merriment filled the hall as they toasted the young couple, wishing them joy and success upon their wedding which would be held the following morning, just after sunrise. At the front of the hall sat the prince; a smile more false than a conman’s sermon on his face as he sat with his betrothed on his left and his brother the king on his right. 

While he was always fair, tonight he was a ghostly pale that most guests would confuse for pre-wedding jitters. They wouldn’t be wrong, per se, but right now he felt less the blushing virgin and more the prisoner being led to the gallows. He raised his goblet to his lips and took a sip of his wine, trying to fill his belly with something other than overwhelming dread. His eyes glanced off to his left where Prince Newton, his fiancé, was picking at his meal with a similar air of anxiety about him. At least he wasn’t alone in his dread, that was reassuring. There was a lot less guilt at play when knowing that one’s betrothed is dreading the marriage just as much as you are. 

The rest of his wine was sent past his lips before the prince excused himself from the table and slipped out of the great hall and out to a quiet corridor where nobody would be any wiser. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed his back to the wall and took a deep, shaky breath. 

Aziraphale had been born a prince, much to the chagrin of his parents the king and queen who already had a son and heir and desired a daughter that could be married off in order to form political alliances. A second son was worse than useless; fit only to get in the way and threaten his brother’s hold on the throne. His brother Gabriel had been a strong child with no doubt that he would rule one day, and this came true when early in Aziraphale’s childhood, his father had died in glorious battle and left his twenty year old son to ascend to the throne. Now fifteen years into his reign, Gabriel had gotten antsy at the thought of his adult brother staying around getting ideas and had made the decision to use him just as he would use a sister: to be married off in order to form an alliance with a neighboring kingdom. To add insult to injury, he was being married off to a man–a third son with no prospects of his own who was also just another pawn in the great chess game that was Europe. It was a wordless statement that Aziraphale wasn’t even useful for producing heirs; just to stand where he was told and be quiet.

Another breath; steadier this time. He needed to freshen up, he reasoned, and slipped upstairs to his room. There, he sat at his desk with a basin of water and set about wetting his face then patting it dry with a cloth. He peered into his looking glass and his own pale blue eyes peered back at him. A few more deep breaths passed his lips until he felt nominally less panicked. 

“It’s alright,” he told his reflection. “This is what you’ve got to do for your kingdom. For your people. If Gabriel won’t allow me to participate in policy then... then the least I can do is bring allies to the table. This is what you’ve spent your whole life preparing for.” That was a bold faced lie, and he knew it, but perhaps if he said it enough times he would begin to believe it. 

He never wanted to be the king; he just didn’t want to be useless. His life was a complete paradox, being handed everything and never wanting but still he was completely powerless. He had spent his life in a kingdom where the rich thrived and the poor suffered. His brother boasted of great wealth and meanwhile their people were starving in the streets. Aziraphale had tried time and time and time again to speak on their behalf–try to get his mother and brother to implement some kind of policy change that would help the needy. But since his father had passed, his mother locked herself away in her apartments and only spoke on the rarest occasion, and Gabriel was much more focused on building armies than he ever was on silly things like feeding the poor. Aziraphale knew he was fighting a losing battle, and the best he could do was what he was told. And that meant being sent away to a strange place with no friends or anyone he could trust, really, to sit and look pretty and be a bargaining tool. 

It wasn’t as if marriage to Prince Newton would be the most horrible thing in the world, he reasoned with himself. He wasn’t unkind or violent. He was intelligent and came from wealth. He had listened attentively when Aziraphale spoke and genuinely valued his opinion on things. He would make an excellent friend if the situation was different. It’s just that, well... 

He was duller than a river rock.

He had no real opinions on things, or if he did he kept them well hidden away so as to never rock the boat in any conversation he ever had. Whenever Aziraphale would ask him a question on anything, be it literature or art or politics, he would shrug and just repeat back whatever Aziraphale had said last. There was no passion in his eyes as far as Aziraphale could see and he just–

He couldn’t love somebody like that.

Marriages of alliance weren’t based on love, Aziraphale knew that as much as any royal did. But at his very core, he had always hoped that even if he spent his whole life overlooked by his family, perhaps someday someone, anyone would be able to love him. And that was not something he would ever find in a marriage to Prince Newton. Even if he couldn’t have love, his barest hope had been that maybe he would have been able to choose what kingdom he would be married off to. Take into his own hands what kind of alliance was formed so that he could maximize his efforts to help his own people. But no. It was a military alliance, pure and simple, chosen for him by Gabriel with no interest in Aziraphale’s input.

Another deep breath. 

_“Aziraphale, how you feel has nothing to do with this,”_ his brother’s words from earlier that day rang in his head. _“Your duty is to form an alliance through marriage and so help me, you’ll do it even if I have to drag you down the aisle myself. I couldn’t care less whether or not you love him. Royals don’t get to marry for love. It’s stupid and frivolous. Beelzebub and I don’t feel a lick of romantic love, but our marriage is good because it’s what our kingdoms needed.”_ He had tried, oh Lord how he had tried to talk to his brother, appeal to the deepest part of his core, tried to tell him that in this marriage he could never be happy. 

_“Your marriage to Prince Newton is the best hope we have for peace and wealth. Isn’t that what you want? For us to not be demolished by our enemies? Or is your personal happiness more important than that?”_

_“No, of course not,” he had said, “but I-“_

_“But nothing. The needs of the many far outweigh your stupid, immature desire for romance. Now shut up and get yourself dressed. I want you looking like they’re getting their money’s worth at dinner.”_

Aziraphale’s head fell into his hands and he began to weep. His whole body shook as tears streamed down his face. He was suffocating; trapped like a prisoner in a cage who knew that come morning, he would be led to the hangman’s gallows and would never be heard from again. He stayed like that, his body hunched over his desk and sobbing for a few minutes until all possible tears had left his body. He felt so totally and completely helpless. 

And then he got the idea. He had, after all, nothing left to lose. 

He reached into his desk and pulled out a slip of parchment and a pen, scribbling the instructions with ferocity. When finished, he placed the parchment in an envelope and dripped wax from his candle to seal it. For a second, he nearly stamped it closed with his ring, but quickly thought better of it so it would not be recognized as his. The next step was to retrieve a cloth bag and fill it with coins, leaving an extra one aside. A boy was easy enough to find, and he was sent off with the letter, the coin purse, and an extra gold coin in his pocket for himself.

Now all Aziraphale had to do was clean his face, go back down to the banquet, and wait.  
––––  
You would be hard-pressed to find anyone in Europe who hadn’t heard tales of Captain Crowley and his crew of child soldiers. Legends of the fearsome pirate and his ship, the _Bentley_ were the kind of thing parents would tell their children to get them to behave. _“If you don’t mind what I say, you’ll find yourself stolen and taken away by the pirates”_ was a common threat in Aziraphale’s kingdom, and one he often heard growing up.

He leaned against the railing on the starboard deck, watching as his crew carried supplies onto the ship. They had stopped for a quick re-stock, in and out in a day was the plan. There was, after all, a royal wedding tomorrow and the village was teeming with nobles and soldiers. Best not to stick around for too long. “Oi,” he called out when a box was nearly dropped. “Gunpowder isn’t something to drop, Brian. You’ll blow us all to hell if you’re not careful!” It was a very routine stop, and he planned to pull out of their docking as soon as everything was loaded. What he did not anticipate was a boy running up to him (not one of his, he noted) and handing him a letter and a bag of coins.

One of the coins was removed and given to the boy who went on his way as Crowley broke the seal and read. 

Oh this was a fun task. Way too much opportunity for leverage to give up.

“New orders,” he turned to his First, a boy named Adam. “We’re staying docked another night. I need you and a small team in my quarters in ten minutes.”

Adam cocked his head. “What’s so interesting to keep us here another night?”

Crowley gave him a serpentine grin. “We’re going to be kidnapping the prince.”  
–––  
Aziraphale did not sleep that night, despite the strict instruction to look well-rested and enticing given to him by his brother. Instead, he sat vigil all through the night, the light of his candle and the moon outside his only light as he stared out the window and waited.

_Please,_ he pleaded with the universe, _please let them come in time._

The hours ticked by at an unnaturally fast pace, and soon Aziraphale found himself in the wee hours of the morning. The morning of his wedding. Dread sat in his stomach like a ball of hot lead, and he found himself with his head in a bucket re-introducing all the wine he had drank at dinner to the world. It was in this state that Anathema found him.

Anathema Device was the closest thing that Aziraphale considered to a friend. She had been his tutor in the recent years, having answered the inquiry he put out for someone to teach him the sciences when he’d found his formal education lacking. She was an odd young woman, the kind with knowledge and opinions that made christian kings like Gabriel nervous. Nevertheless, she had become Prince Aziraphale’s confidante and was the only person who even thought about checking on him in the hours before his marriage. Unexpected was the bucket and the retching, but she found him a cool rag and some wine to get the taste out of his mouth.

“Here,” she said, offering them to him. Aziraphale looked up at the sound of her voice, not having heard her come in over the sound of bile hitting the bucket.

“Thank you,” he murmured, wiping his mouth with the cloth before taking a sip from the cup. “Nerves, I suppose,” he explained, not altogether lying. Anathema knew better, she was the only person to whom Aziraphale had disclosed his disdain for the thought of marrying Prince Newton other than his brother. She was the only one who had taken it seriously.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him, and drew up another chair to sit next to him. “It’s just past three. Have you slept at all?” Aziraphale shook his head slowly, his eyes looking far away as if he hadn’t yet come to terms with reality. Anathema let out a sigh and moved the bucket over to the window where its odor would not waft into the room. When she turned around, she found Aziraphale’s gaze fixed upon her. No wait, not on her. On the window behind her. A wave of ...relief? seemed to cross Aziraphale’s expression, and she turned once more to look out the window in an attempt to piece together what had happened. 

She could make out the figures of three horses heading towards the castle. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, especially on the morning of a royal wedding. Looking closer, she was able to home in on an energy radiating off the three figures and snapped up straight when she identified it. Her head spun back around to look at Aziraphale, who had gotten up to sit on his bed. “What on earth have you done?” Anathema asked, fear in her eyes. 

“My dear, if you don’t want to be caught in the crossfire of my decisions, I suggest you leave now,” he said in a hushed voice, his expression a mixture of relief and unadulterated fear. “I’m doing what I have to in order to get out of this. I can’t go through with the wedding, I simply can’t and I’m finally taking my own life into my hands. Now get as far from this room as you can.”

Anathema took his words in as he said them but found herself frozen as he spoke. “Are you insane!? Orchestrating your own _kidnapping?_ Aziraphale this is dangerous, you don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

“I’d gladly take whatever they give me rather than spend the rest of my life being a pawn.” As the words left his mouth, the fear vanished from his eyes and he looked, for the first time in his life, the tiniest bit brave. He extinguished his candle and fell back against his bed in darkness. Anathema turned to run for the door, but she was too late. 

Standing in the window, illuminated by the moonlight, was the man of nightmares. He stood six feet tall and towered over most in normal circumstances but standing on the window’s frame he was overpowering. He was dressed in black from his deep-cut shirt to his boots, and long copper hair hung in ringlets and braids down to his hips. His eyes were hidden by dark lenses and his features were in a snarl. A sword tucked away in its scabbard hung on one side of his belt and a knife in its sheath hung on the opposite. His eyes locked on the prince lying in bed, feigning sleep, then on the young woman by the door. In a second, he had Anathema backed into a corner. 

“Please don’t do this, please. Whatever you want instead, the king will give it to you,” she pleaded, but quickly found herself bound at the wrists and with a scarf tied around her mouth to muffle her pleas. 

“Adam,” he called out the window, and the boy climbed up through it. He pushed the woman toward Adam, who caught her, then turned his attentions to Aziraphale, who had sat up when Anathema cried and was breathing heavily, his body once again wracked with anxiety. Crowley crossed the room and pulled the knife from his belt. “Don’t make a single noise, d’you hear me? Not one. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll go quietly.”

The moonlight reflected off the blade, Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice. His gaze shifted upward and caught that of the pirate captain standing next to his bed. His mind went blank save for taking in the features of the man who was both his captor and his savior. He found his eyes transfixed on Captain Crowley’s snarl and the way he seemed to be all angles and lines. He was sharp. Ah yes, he thought, so was the knife now held to his throat. 

Aziraphale shook the thoughts from his head and let his gaze meet Crowley’s once again. He would have been looking into his eyes if not for the dark lenses obscuring them. He closed his lips and offered Captain Crowley his wrists. They were bound with rope and the prince was pulled unceremoniously from his bed to be shoved out the window after Anathema who was sitting on a horse behind Adam.

“Why are we taking the girl, captain?” Asked the third crewman, a young girl called Pepper. 

Crowley pushed Aziraphale up on to his own horse then mounted it. “No witnesses. If they know who took him, we have less time to get away.” He tugged on his reigns and headed back towards their docking, the other pirates following close behind him.  
–––  
The second they boarded the ship, the ropes holding it to the dock were cut and they were off, rowers moving them silently from the coastline towards the ocean. The first few rays of sunlight were beginning to become visible over the horizon. The first few members of castle staff would be rising soon, Aziraphale mused. He was being pulled off the horse and thrown to the ground. He caught himself as best as he could with his bound hands and helped Anathema up when she fell next to him, still crying out against her gag. Aziraphale, having been silent and compliant, had not had his mouth covered. 

Captain Crowley hovered over them both, face still pulled into that fearsome snarl. “Now,” he drawled, “I haven’t the faintest idea who wanted you taken away so very badly, but I do know that they were willing to pay quite a pretty penny to me to do so. You, princess,” he mocked, “have some very powerful enemies it seems. And that’s wonderful news for my business.” He stood up straight and began to pace. “My ship, my rules. The two of you are gonna be held out of sight until whoever is willing to either pays up or comes to save you. This is no pleasure cruise, I’m afraid. You’re going to work and you’re going to sleep in the holding cell. You, _royal scum_, are gonna experience Hell.” He bent back down on these last few words, pulling in close enough to Aziraphale that he felt Captain Crowley’s hot breath on his neck. His eyes darted over to Anathema, whose tears were spilling down her face. Then he looked back at the pirate.

“Do whatever you want to me,” he said, voice wavering, “but please don’t torture her like this.”

A snort left Crowley. “Oh princess, you have no idea what torture is, just you wait.” He moved over to Anathema. “And don’t think you won’t be put through the wringer too. All you dirty nobles are the same.” Even as he said the biting words, he pulled the knife out once again and cut the scarf that had gagged her, the fabric falling into her lap leaving behind red marks on her face. 

“I’m going to leave the two of you at the mercy of my crew,” Crowley said, standing upright once more and putting the knife away. “My first, Adam, will see to it that you behave yourselves.” He turned on his heel and began walking back to his quarters.

“I’m sorry my dear,” Aziraphale whispered to Anathema as soon as he thought the captain was out of earshot. “I never intended for you to be mixed up in this.”

“Your intentions don’t mean shit, Aziraphale,” she snapped back, just barely louder than he had been. “This was an insane plan. It’s too far. You’re going to get us killed.”

Crowley stood terrifyingly still for just a second, letting the words come together in his mind. His whole body became possessed by anger, he shook in his boots, and it was clear as day on his face when he turned around again. He lifted a shaking finger and pointed it at Aziraphale, still bound and sitting on the deck. “You. You _planned this?_”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stage is set for a story to unfold. Any and all comments and constructive criticism are welcome and valued <3.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Crowley offers Aziraphale a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the duel scene from Princess Bride six times trying to write this. I have no idea how fencing works, so I did some reading and watched a few youtube videos but I very much apologize for my lack of knowledge. That being said, I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

Let this stand as a warning to always think through your plans. Aziraphale, when he had been weighing the pros and cons of going through with a loveless marriage versus orchestrating his own kidnapping by pirates, had foreseen neither his tutor being held captive alongside him nor her revealing his hand in the situation which led to him being held with his hands bound as he was pinned to the wall. 

Captain Crowley had lifted him from the deck and was holding him in place, looking Aziraphale up and down. He noticed, with some satisfaction, that the prince was trembling where he stood._ Good_, he thought, _a little terror is good for a hostage._ But then again, if he was here of his own accord...

After a moment he let him go but made it clear with a sharp look that he was not to move. “Alright,” he said, beginning to pace in front of him. “You have my attention. I’ll give you thirty seconds to explain yourself.” His fingers rested on his belt where his knife was safely enclosed in its sheath. He did not anticipate needing it, but he used the gesture as a not-so-subtle reminder to Aziraphale that his royal blood had nothing to do with who was in charge on Crowley’s ship.

The ball of hot lead that had been in Aziraphale’s stomach since the announcement of his engagement was now lodged in his throat. “Really,” he sputtered, speaking within Crowley’s earshot for the first time. “I-I had no hand in this. What kind of person would _request_ their own kidnapping? I mean that’s absurd.” He was an obscenely horrible liar, Crowley noted. His fingers twitched where they rested on the knife. 

“You wanna try that again, Princess?”  
Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I really do have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know who hired you, but I had nothing to do with it.”

Captain Crowley’s features pulled back into their snarl. He began to pull the knife from its sheath when Anathema blurted, “He’s the one who sent you the note!”

Crowley’s gaze shifted from Aziraphale to Anathema, his fingers pushing the knife back into its sheath. “Finally,” he said, stepping away from one hostage and toward the other, “a little honesty. And why, pray tell, would a powerful prince arrange his own kidnapping? Does somebody need attention? Or are you more conniving than that? Trying to lure your army toward me? Take me out?” His gaze snapped back to Aziraphale.

“H-heavens, no,” he said, hands twitching in their bonds behind his back. “I’m telling you; I have no idea what you’re talking about, I didn’t–“

“Just tell him, Aziraphale!” Anathema shouted. Crowley’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “For God’s sake he could kill us if you don’t just tell him!”

Crowley took menacingly slow steps back towards Aziraphale, his boots clunking against the wood of the deck as he looked him up and down, taking in each of his features calculatingly. “Now would be a good time to listen to your friend, Angel,” he said, voice as demeaning as possible. “She has a point.” In the blink of an eye, he was pinning Aziraphale to the wall again, his knife flashing against his throat. He was close enough for his warm breath to land on Aziraphale’s neck, and his heart began to pound. “I’m going to give you one more chance to confess your end game before I assume that this is an elaborate plot to draw your army towards me. Now that’s not something I can tolerate. See I’ve got this crew,” he snarled, teeth bared, “and it’s my job to kill for them if the need arises, and I will not hesitate to cut you right here and now if what you’re planning is to bring them any kind of danger.” Aziraphale’s breathing began to quicken, his body threatening to panic. This close up, could see the eyes behind Captain Crowley’s lenses. It must have been a trick of the light (the sun was rising, after all) but he could almost swear that they were... yellow.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, drawing up all his courage. “That’s not what I want,” he admitted, and Crowley’s grip on him loosened a bit, but he kept the knife where it was. “I don’t wish any harm on you or your crew. I just needed a way to escape.”

“Escape? What, was cushy palace life too constraining? You were bored and wanted an adventure?” Crowley’s eyes narrowed, and he finally lowered the knife. Aziraphale let out the breath he was holding. 

“No,” he said. “I wanted an out before being forced into marriage. I thought I could follow through with it, but I couldn’t. And the king would have come after me if I left of my own accord, so I needed to be taken away.”

Suddenly, both of Crowley’s hands were grabbing him by the shirt and their chests were flush together as he pinned the prince to the wall. “Oh but him coming after _ME_ was alright?” A low growl came out as he yelled, and Aziraphale trembled where he stood. “Just because you didn’t want to get married, you thought you could hitch a ride and fuck off into the night? Because that is _not_ how this works. He’s going to send after me, and it’s my crew that will be at risk you stupid prissy idiot.” His grip on Aziraphale’s shirt was undone suddenly as he stepped back, and Aziraphale fell in a heap on the floor. 

“I’ve heard the stories of your success!” he said after catching his breath. “I know that you’re the most feared and respected Captain on the sea and I know that you’re the best at what you do. You stand the best chance of anyone of not getting caught. You won’t be. And I’m not asking for a free ride, I-I will work. And I’ll earn my keep, just please,” he rasped, still trembling. “Please let me stay.”

The thing about the _Bentley_ is that it has been, for generations, a home for whoever needs it. Its decks are filled with abandoned and orphaned children, and its captain sees it as both his parent and his child. 

Anger was still coursing through his veins, but he took in the sight of Aziraphale thrown to the floor and begging for help. He had been studying the prince’s body language since he had stood in the window, but now he was looking in his eyes. They were a clear blue, he noticed, and they held an all-too familiar expression. The man before him may have been an adult, but Crowley could see the scared child within him; someone powerless and with no allies. Someone desperate for help and a home. It was the same expression he had seen in so many of the children on board. The same expression that someone had seen in him years and years ago.

The anger began to fade. An exasperated sigh fell from his lips. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, and Aziraphale perked up. “You have to earn your right to stay on this ship, Princess. I’m going to give you a chance to impress me. You and I,” he said, drawing his sword from his belt. “Are going to duel. If you somehow beat me,” he said with a tone that heavily implied that it would not be the case, “you can stay on my ship. But when I win, I take you home in time to walk down the aisle. Deal?” He offered Aziraphale his free hand.

Aziraphale took it and used it to pull himself to his feet. “Deal.”

\---

The weight of the rapier felt familiar in his hand. Adam had handed it to him with a comment about “I know you’ve never seen this before, but you hold the handle end and fight with the pointy one.” Aziraphale had just smiled and taken it with a polite “Thank you.”

He had noticed, after taking Crowley’s hand, that he was still dressed in his nightshirt and was missing his shoes. After a moment’s thought, the pirate had sent one of his crewmen into his quarters to bring up some clothes. Now Aziraphale stood on the deck with his nightshirt tucked into a pair of Crowley’s breeches and a pair of worn brown boots on his feet. Certainly it was not his usual fighting attire, but it would have to do.  
Crowley stood opposite him, pulling his rapier out of its scabbard on his belt. He brought the hilt to his lips and pressed a kiss just below where the blade began. His hair had been tied back with a scarf and the length of it hung between his shoulder blades. One foot in its black boot stepped backward and he raised the sword in front of him. “Are you ready to dance, princess? I know that’s one of the few things you’re any good at.”

Aziraphale was still examining the sword he had been handed. He held the handle in his right hand and the end of the blade in his left, bringing it up to eye level so he could check the quality of the blade. Then he took a moment to concentrate on the weight of the hilt in his right hand. “Just a moment,” he said to the captain, ignoring the laughter coming from the onlooking crew. Finally, he took a stance that mirrored Crowley’s, his left foot stepping backward and carrying half of his weight. “Alright,” he said. “Ready.”

As he watched Aziraphale prepare himself for the fight, Crowley thought, just for a moment, that he may have miscalculated. 

They stood on the deck, each one the other’s mirror. One dressed in black, the other in white, in the same stance. They would have been holding eye contact save for the pirate’s glasses. Their rapiers raised, both seemed to be waiting for the other to make the first move. Anathema and Crowley’s crew looked on, nobody daring to breathe. 

It was Crowley that lunged first, moving in a manner that looked less like an attack and more like a warning shot. Aziraphale’s block was quick, his body pulling back from the sword as metal clanked against metal. Crowley pulled back then lunged again, faster this time, and was blocked just as easily. His eyes narrowed, watching Aziraphale’s face drain of any of the panic he had been holding before and be replaced with pure concentration. When Aziraphale realized Crowley was distracted, he made his first thrust, his feet moving quickly with his body towards the pirate, and Crowley found himself stepping backwards as he blocked it, stumbling a bit out of surprise.

Okay, maybe he had definitely underestimated him. From the murmurs he heard around him, it seemed his crew had underestimated the prince too.

When people looked at Aziraphale, they tended to focus on the softness and comforts of a royal upbringing. They did not, as a rule, remember that he was a trained swordsman, as well as a skilled hunter. Underestimation was something Aziraphale was well-accustomed to, and something he had long since learned to use to his advantage.

Now that he had the upper hand on Crowley, he made another lunge in quick succession of the first, his feet light as he continued to step toward him. Each of his attacks were countered by the pirate, and the speed of his defenses increased as Aziraphale struck more often. Then Crowley managed to shed his sword from Aziraphale’s, letting it slide off so that he could make the next advance. Suddenly, their roles were reversed, and it was Aziraphale passing back.

“Where’d you learn to fight, princess?” Crowley smirked. one eyebrow raised. His advances began to come quicker, but each one was blocked far before any danger came to the prince. Aziraphale made a false lunge toward him then stepped back, throwing Crowley off-guard so that he could advance again and take control once more.

“Surely you must have realized,” he said, staring Crowley down with those shocking blue eyes, “that part of a prince’s formal education includes being taught how to command an army.” He continued to lunge at Crowley, not getting distracted as he spoke like the pirate had. Crowley continued to block, but the strikes were coming faster. He attempted to shed once more, but Aziraphale moved faster and blocked him before striking again. “How to hunt. How to kill,” he added. 

The fierce pirate captain faded, leaping back but keeping his feet in their stance. With new distance between them, he was able to take over once again, striking at Aziraphale. “Maybe so, but your lot always plays by the rules.” He grinned with bared teeth and ducked to dodge a blow. Rising up again, he blocked two more lunges then shed Aziraphale’s sword, moving his wrist so that he knocked the rapier out of his opponent’s hand. 

It only took half a second for Aziraphale to respond, quickly ducking to dodge the next blow and leaping to grab the sword, his hand wrapping around the grip before it even hit the ground. He was quick back to his feet and blocked each blow the pirate dealt him as if he had never lost his sword to begin with. He let the pirate strike after him for a while, his eyes fixed on him so that he could take in and study his fighting style. It rang in his head that his opponent had a tendency to strike first and question later. His moves were fast, yes, but he lacked the foresight to anticipate his opponent’s next move. _Well,_ he thought, _if he can play dirty, why can’t I?_

And so he kicked him. Hard. In the shin. 

Crowley yelped and crumpled to the ground, then cried again when Aziraphale knocked the sword out of his hand with his own. He brought his hand up to look at it and realized that the prince had slashed his blade across his palm.

Suddenly, the calm focus faded from his eyes and was replaced with panic. “O-oh dear. Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to-” Crowley raised his non-dripping hand.

“I concede,” he said, looking up at Aziraphale. “You win. You can stay.” With some difficulty, he raised himself back on to his feet and walked toward his quarters, his rapier lying on the ground where he had left it. Adam shot Aziraphale a calculating look, then followed his captain.

\---

“Did you see that coming?” Adam asked, jumping up to sit on the edge of Crowley’s desk.

“Clearly not considering I’m the one who got his ass handed to him,” the captain shot back. He began rummaging through his things, trying to find a suitable dressing for his hand. He ended up tearing a strip from an old shirt and wrapped it around his bloody palm tight enough to slow the bleeding. “New rule, don’t challenge sword fights with people whose education involves learning how to use a sword.”

“He didn’t look like he’d have half a clue how to use it though,” Adam said, swinging his legs. “He looks just as prissy and incompetent as the rest of them. And you’ve kicked plenty of noble butt before.” Crowley considered this and hummed thoughtfully before collapsing into his chair. 

“Maybe it’s not a definitive rule. We’ll fine-tune it later.” He pulled the dressing away to get a better look at his hand. “There’s some clean shirts in my chest. Grab a couple and take them to our guests, then have Warlock show them where they’ll be staying.”

Scrunching his nose, Adam did as he was told. “I can’t believe you’re actually letting them stay. Just because some snippy little prince thinks he’s too good to marry some other snippy prince.”

“Yeah I know,” Crowley waved him off. “He’s gonna be a right pain in the ass, I can feel it. But he’s interesting. Something about him just tells me he’ll be fun to keep around for a while. Now go take those things up and make sure we’re on course.”

“Yes, Captain,” Adam nodded and took the clothes under his arm out of the room and up to the decks.

Crowley put his feet up on his desk and looked up at the ceiling, cursing himself for his weakness in battle. “Really, who would have seen it coming from the princess?” he muttered. He pulled his glasses off and set them on his desk, then with his uninjured hand he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He rubbed his face then let the hand fall back in his lap. 

He didn’t _do_ passengers, and stowaways were only acceptable if they were children seeking refuge. As a rule, anyone who came on the ship over the age of fifteen was killed on sight. There was a reputation of the Captain Crowley to take no survivors other than children he could manipulate to do his bidding. That reputation was only half true (the children pretty much did what they wanted, and he was only there to supervise) but it needed to be upheld so that nobody would dare to mess with the crew he tried so very hard to protect. So why had he let this one live?

Well... he was interesting.

Most people who lived cushy lives and were headed for cushy marriages would be willing to put up with them, even if the circumstances were less than ideal. They didn’t tend to arrange their own kidnapping via pirate. Crowley doubted he ever would have uncovered the prince’s ulterior motives had the girl not revealed them. 

A hostage would have been nice to have, he supposed. Leverage. Crowley hated nobles with a burning passion, and it could have been very interesting to have the king at his beck and call, appealing to Crowley for the return of his brother. 

He hadn’t anticipated the request to come from the actual hostage, and he certainly hadn’t anticipated being bested in a duel by him. So now he had zero hostages, two adults on his ship full of children, and once the sun came up, possibly a whole navy on his tail.

“Jesus Christ what a comedy of errors,” he murmured, and put his glasses back on when he heard a knock on his door. “’S open.” His features turned to amused ones when he saw Aziraphale through the crack in the door. “Come on, Princess, I’m very interested in having a talk with you.”

Aziraphale bristled at the name but stepped inside, closing the door behind himself. He had changed into the offered clothes and fidgeted nervously with his hands. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to thank you. Ah, for the clothes. And for the not killing me or throwing me overboard. Or returning me.”

Crowley held up his hand to stop him, then gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk. Aziraphale sat. “Don’t worry about the clothes, keep ‘em. White’s not my color anyway.” One handed, he pulled out two stone tumblers from his desk and poured two fingers of brown into each of them. “And don’t thank me for letting you stay, either. It was part of the deal. You beat me.” He offered one of the tumblers to Aziraphale.

The prince took it with a nod and thought very hard about draining it in one sip. “Well y-yes but I’m afraid I wasn’t quite fair when I-“

“You’re on board a pirate ship and you’re worried about fair?” Crowley laughed. He set down the bottle and sat on the edge of the desk that Adam had just evacuated. “You’re a good swordsman, loathe as I am to admit it. I have to say I was impressed, Angel.”

“Aziraphale,” he offered, not liking the demeaning nicknames one bit. 

“I think I like Angel,” Crowley smirked. Then, unthinking, he went to pick up his tumbler with his injured hand and hissed in pain when it made contact. “Fuck,” he said, face scrunching with pain as he held his wrist with his unhurt hand.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said, setting down his tumbler on the desk as he stood up. “That I really do apologize for. It was completely unintentional. May I?” He went to reach for Crowley’s hand, but the pirate pulled back quickly. 

“’S fine,” he lied, badly. “I don’t need your help. I’ve seen and gotten worse.”

Aziraphale pulled his hand back. “Have you washed it at least?”

“With what?” Crowley laughed. “Clean water’s got to be reserved for drinking. Can’t go wasting it on little cuts.”

“Yes but that’s not a little cut, it’s quite a big one. Now let me see it.” His mouth opened, but no protest came out. Instead, he just sat there gaping like a fish as Aziraphale took his hand and unwrapped the bandage. “Oh dear,” he tutted when he saw the open wound. It had stopped bleeding but was headed quickly for infection. “What about alcohol?” He said, looking up at Crowley whose face was contorted in pain. “Anything clear?”

“Bottom drawer,” he hissed. “Fuck that stings.”

Aziraphale found the bottle and uncorked it. Then he took Crowley’s hand back in his own. As he did, their fingers brushed, and for some unfathomable reason, the hair stood up on Crowley’s arms and a shiver ran down his back. His heart pounded hard in his chest and on instinct, he pulled the bottle roughly from Aziraphale’s hand. The prince, not having expected it, stumbled backward.

“I’ve got it,” Crowley growled, and took a deep breath to keep his face still as he poured the alcohol over his hand. It stung like the devil, but he bit his lip to keep from showing that to his observer. “I don’t need the help of stuffy little princes. Now get out of my quarters and back below decks.”

Aziraphale looked for a second like he was going to say something to protest, but he closed his lips and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are always valued, from constructive criticism to keysmashes to '<3's.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Anathema adjust to their new lives on board the Bentley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly filler, I admit, but does introduce some important characters as well as establish important details. It is also the longest chapter to date, so wahoo for that!  
I've noticed that nobody has picked out what the title is a reference to. Bonus points to the first to find it.
> 
> Come bother me on tumblr! I'm over at senseofenterprise

The rats were an adjustment. So was the dark. And the damp. And the hammock. And the sharing the brig with Anathema.

Okay so life on a pirate ship as a whole was an adjustment. It was dingy and disgusting and there wasn’t a lick of comfort to be found. It was borrowed clothes and limited clean water and being grateful for the sight of Jasmine the ship’s cat, because at least that meant the room was rat free. In a word, it was barbaric.

And Aziraphale took it all in stride. He would live in a moldy rat-infested room eating hard tack biscuits for the rest of his life if it meant being free of Gabriel forever. He would spend eternity on the ship if he could, because here he was the author of his own destiny. 

Adam had been the one to assign him to cooking. It was one of the few jobs that could be given to someone that he didn’t trust. “Alright princess,” he’d said, (Aziraphale found it both hilarious and demeaning that he was being regularly insulted by an eleven year old boy, but he didn’t voice this thought to anyone but Anathema under the cloak of night) “You’re gonna be in the kitchen with Warlock here. He’ll show you the ropes and he’ll be in charge of you. I know you’ve probably never worked a day in your life, but you’ll have to figure it out.” With that he’d left.

Aziraphale watched him go through the door, then raised an eyebrow at the young boy with long hair standing by the coal oven. His face and clothes were covered in flour, and he was looking up from the paper sitting in front of him on the counter.

“Warlock?” Aziraphale asked, his mind wrapping around the strange name.

“I picked it when I came on the _Bentley,_” he explained and offered him a flour-covered hand. “Welcome to the kitchen.”

Aziraphale shook it. “I suppose I’ll have a lot to learn from you.”

“No,” Warlock said, returning to the recipe in front of him. “I kind of suck at this if I’m being honest. The Captain just leaves me to my devices because I like to do it and he’s got a soft spot for me. If you’ve got no experience either, we can suck at it together.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. He rolled up his sleeves and joined him behind the counter. “Actually,” he said, “I do have some kitchen experience. I used to hide in the kitchens as a child watching the cook and learning from him.”

“Yeah,” said Warlock. “Me too. That’s why I like it so much.” He set down his bowl and scrambled up to sit on the counter. “I know everyone’s making fun of you for being royal and everything, but they’ll soften up. I did the same thing you did, and they warmed up to me fast.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you did the same thing?”

Warlock shrugged. “My father was an ambassador. Big important guy with lots of money and land and spent lots of time in castles. My mother spent all her time at court, and they left me at home on the estate with the servants. I got sick of being left alone so I’d wander off during the days. Sometimes stay gone into the nights and nobody would notice.” He let his legs swing as he talked, and he watched them move. His body hunched over he could watch, and his long hair hung in his face so Aziraphale couldn’t see it. “One day I wandered down to the docks and I met Captain Crowley and the rest of the crew. I knew nobody would notice if I left so I just... did. They made fun of me a little when they figured out I was leaving a comfortable life but eventually they figured out that what I needed was a family and that’s what I found with them.” After saying this, he looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes for a moment. 

“I know Captain Crowley got mad at you for the same thing. Said you were soft or ungrateful for leaving cushy court life just because you weren’t happy, but I get it. Being happy is important.”

Aziraphale’s heart cracked in his chest watching the boy bare his soul to him. He allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his lips. “Being happy is important,” he agreed. “I couldn’t run away like you did, I would have gotten caught. That’s why I had to have them take me.”

Warlock nodded. “It was a good plan. Cap’s good at what he does, I know he won’t get caught. You should be safe here.” He pulled his hand to his lips and nibbled at a hangnail. “Why didn’t you want to get married?”

“Well,” he said, thinking his words over carefully. “I didn’t have any say in it. My brother the king likes to treat me like a pawn. He’s never once listened to anything I had to say.”

“I hear that.”

“And when I started suggesting he should turn his efforts to actually helping all the poor suffering people in our kingdom, he decided I was too much work to keep around and he decided to marry me off to whoever had the biggest army. He told me to marry whoever he picked and just be quiet about it.”

“That’s a dick move,” Warlock said, and Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to reprimand the boy for his choice of words.

“Indeed,” he conceded. 

“I get that though,” the boy said, moving his hand from his lips and wiping it on his shirt. “Not being listened to. Wanting to be helpful but just... being ignored. Being told what to do and just having to take it.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help it. He reached out and brushed away the tear that had rolled down Warlock’s cheek at recalling the memory. “Yes,” he said, not bringing attention to it, “I’m glad to hear you’ve found a family that values you here, though. I only hope I’ll be able to get the same.”

“You will,” Warlock nodded, jumping down from the counter. “They just have to warm up to you first. Now what’s with Anathema? Is she your girlfriend or something? Wanted to bring her on your adventure?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Definitely not. She’s my tutor. Closest thing I had to a friend at home. She wasn’t supposed to be taken with me. She just happened to be in the room checking on me when your Captain arrived.”

The two continued chatting as they began to work. Aziraphale, it turned out, had a knack for cooking. At the very least, he did a better job of it than an eleven year old boy with no formal training. Aziraphale had no formal training, either, but he would have the foresight to actually bring different flavors to the pot. Sure, he was working with dried produce, heavily salted meat, and the few canned items that had been given by the kind women who had insisted on sending Captain Crowley with food for the children (he had thanked them profusely and each one had been given a small amount of money and the promise of eternal friendship from the pirate), but by his first afternoon in the kitchen Aziraphale and Warlock had put together a decent dinner. They had made a large pot of the kind of soup Aziraphale had watched the cook prepare for the servant dinner many times. He made sure to tell Warlock everything he was doing and wrote down instructions for him so that he could try on his own if he so pleased. Then he’d shown the boy how to make bread. “Real, warm, fluffy bread,” Warlock had remarked when it was pulled from the coal oven. “Not just hard biscuits. Real bread.”

“Real bread,” Aziraphale agreed, and tore off a piece for him to try. The two of them chattered the whole time they cooked, and let it continue as they started to prepare the mess for dinner.

Neither of them noticed the tall figure dressed in black standing outside the door and listening to them, an unintentional smile on his lips.

\--

Anathema had been even quicker to adapt than Aziraphale. It only took her one day to be adopted by the crew. After the duel, she had wandered up to the decks in an attempt to get away from Aziraphale and wrap her mind around what had happened that morning. She tied her hair up on top of her head as she stepped out on the deck, and couldn’t help but overhear two voices, a boy and a girl, bickering.

“It doesn’t matter that the sky’s grey Wensley, all the dark clouds are moving east. I’ve been watching them. We’re heading west so the rain will miss us completely.”

“But what if the wind changes directions all of a sudden?” Said the boy. “It could start following us at any moment Pepper. We should prepare for rain just in case.”

“Wind doesn’t just magically change directions,” the girl, Pepper, countered. “It’s been holding east all day. We’re wasting time idling. Even if it does change, if we pick up speed now we’ll outrun it.”

“But what if there’s more clouds coming from that way?”

“There won’t be,” Anathema interjected. The children turned to look at her.

Pepper looked her up and down for a second. “I’ve been doing this a long time. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you know how to do my job better than me. Brian, raise the sails.”

“Well no,” Anathema said, leaning against the railing, “being an adult doesn’t. But I have studied meteorology for at least as long as you’ve been alive, so...”

One of the boys, Wensley, looked back at Pepper. “Maybe we should listen to her.”

Pepper snorted. “I’m not going to listen to one of those rich adult snobs. This is our ship, we know what we’re doing.”

“Oh, sure,” Anathema said, unable to help the smile curling at her lips, “just brush me off as being noble because I happen to know the prince. I’m not any richer than you, I’m just a teacher.”

Pepper let down the ropes she was holding but didn’t let them go and looked at her. “So why were you in the castle?”

“Well like I said, I’m a teacher. Or I have taught. I’m a scientist by trade. Weather, alchemy, stuff like that. The prince was interested in learning from me, so I’ve been tutoring him. Nothing formal and I’m definitely not a noble. They don’t let witches be nobles.”

“Witches?” the other boy, Brian, looked up at that. “Like an actual witch?”

“Well I’m not a potion and spells kind of witch like you would hear about in story books,” she chuckled. “But men in power don’t usually take kind to young women who like to learn things like science and how to predict the weather.”

“Hear hear,” said Pepper.

“You can predict the weather?” Asked Wensley. “So which one of us is right, me or Pepper?”

“Wensley don’t bother her just because you don’t trust me.”

Anathema grinned and walked over to the sails. “Well you’ve both got some valid points. The clouds do seem to be headed east pretty consistently, but you need to be worried about the possibility of rain coming from the other direction. Is there a telescope on board?”

Pepper nodded. “Go fetch it, Brian.”

Brian grinned and made off to run for it but stopped short and put out his hand. “My name’s Brian.”

Anathema took it and smiled. “Anathema Device.”

\--

“I don’t trust him, Cap,” Adam said, faced curled up in obvious distaste. “How do you know you can trust his sob story?”

“I don’t,” Crowley admitted, tearing off a piece of bread and using it to wipe down the sides of his bowl. “But Warlock had the same story and we love having him around now.” He popped the bread in his mouth. “And I hate to admit it but for the first time ever the food’s actually edible. He’s almost worth keeping around for that alone.”

Adam frowned. “Warlock’s different. He’s just a kid, crappy parents are an actual danger for him. The princess just thinks he’s too good to do what he’s told.”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t finished his chores for the day,” Crowley chuckled and set his bowl aside, then stood up. “I know you don’t trust him Adam, and for good reason. I don’t trust him either. I promise, I’m keeping an eye on him. Let that be my job.” He reached over and ruffled Adam’s hair, earning fake protest in response. “For now, we enjoy the half decent food. And Anathema’s invaluable, so even if I end up having to throw the princess overboard I’m keeping her.”

“I never complained about Anathema. She’s fine. Brian and Pepper and Wensley say they love her. I’ve got no problem with normal people, it’s the rich pigs you have to watch out for.”

“You’re exactly right,” Crowley told him, “and I promise you I’m keeping an eye on him. The second there’s any funny business, I’ll take care of it. You take care of keeping everyone else in line. Now take this,” he gave Adam his empty bowl, “and go make sure everyone’s doing what their jobs.”

His first took the bowl and gave him a joking salute before slipping out of the door and running up to the deck. Crowley pressed his hands on his desk and leaned back on them, crossing his feet at the ankles. He pulled his glasses off and set them on his desk, then let out a slow exhale and rubbed his face.

“Yeah Anthony, let the prince and the girl stay on the ship,” he murmured. “You had a handle on life commanding a ship of kids, they trust you, just let two adults you don’t know you can trust around your kids.” He lifted his left hand and ran a finger across the slash on his palm. The wound had healed but promised to leave a scar. A permanent reminder of being beaten by a prissy little brat with eyes you could just get lost in–

He shook his head of that thought right away. “Where the fuck did that come from?” he snarled to himself. Before he could let himself dwell on it, he put his glasses back on and went to pour himself a drink. 

\--

Aziraphale was cleaning after dinner one night about a week after arriving on board the _Bentley,_ having sent Warlock off to join his friends and insisting he could finish the work on his own. He cleaned the pots the best he could and was now running the broom through the mess. It wasn’t easy work, not by a long shot, but it was good and honest and at the end of the day he felt like he had accomplished something. After years of being powerless to reach out and feed the poor children of his kingdom, he now got the satisfaction every day of seeing growing children getting their fill of hearty, nutritious meals. He closed his eyes for a moment, a rush of affection running through him. None of the other children but Warlock had warmed up to him yet, but they all seemed to get less hostile when they realized he was the source of the sudden, drastic improvement in meal quality. 

He’d begun to learn the daily workings of the ship and knew most of the names and jobs of each of the children. Warlock had helped by pointing them out and talking about them while they sat down at mealtimes. Aziraphale had always been a quick learner.

Anathema, too, helped him adjust. At the end of the day, they would talk about what each of them had experienced during the day’s events. Apparently, she had been adopted by three of the crewmen responsible for navigation. This had amused Aziraphale greatly, and he loved to sit up and listen to her recount the conversations they’d had and the questions they’d asked of her. Apparently, as soon as she told them that she was a witch they had decided that she was the authority on most things. _”They have a point, you are the authority on most things,”_ he’d said, laughing warmly.

Aziraphale was pulled out of thoughts by the sound of a voice behind him. “Slacking off in here, Angel?” Said Crowley, causing Aziraphale to jump. There was no malice in his voice, just amusement.

“Goodness,” Aziraphale said, his hand jumping to his chest and gripping his shirt. “I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t hear you come up behind me.”

“Clearly,” Crowley smirked and sat on top of the table to Aziraphale’s left. “Where’s Warlock? Sweeping seems like the kind of thing you delegate to the kid.”

“Yes, except Adam made it quite clear that Warlock is my boss, not the other way around,” Aziraphale chuckled, and Crowley couldn’t help but do the same. 

“Damn right.”

“I told him I would finish up. He works so hard, I thought he deserved a break.” He finished sweeping under the table and propped the broom against the back of a chair.

“That was nice of you,” Crowley said, cocking an eyebrow. “Volunteering to take on extra work doesn’t seem like the kind of thing your lot does. Getting your hands dirty and all.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m not so easily lumped into a category, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale’s expression hardened suddenly, and he turned his back to Crowley.

“No,” the pirate conceded, “You do seem to be full of surprises. My hand is a testament to that.”

The stiffness receded and Aziraphale turned back toward him, his expression softening as he walked back toward him. “I’m still terribly sorry about that. Is it healing alright?”

Crowley waved him off. “It’ll be fine in a few days, stop apologizing. I’m not angry, really I’m not. I’m impressed actually. I wasn’t anticipating you knowing how to use that thing.”

“Sword-fighting was part of my formal education, Captain.”

“Crowley,” he offered. It was an olive branch. An extended hand. 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale said the word slowly, working his mind around over how it felt coming from his lips. Silly, but it seemed more natural than anything he had ever said in his life. “I’ve spent quite a bit of my free time on the dueling ground with a rapier in hand.”

A grin spread across Crowley’s face. “So have lots of nobles. Doesn’t guarantee that they’re good at it.”

“Neither does being a pirate,” Aziraphale shot back without thinking. When he realized what he’d said, a look of pure terror spread across his face. “Oh dear. So sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I meant no disrespect–“

Anger was the farthest thing from Crowley’s mind. An expression of delight and surprise spread over his features instead, not having anticipated the prince to have such a sharp tongue. His thoughts were plain on his face: _This one’s different._ He pushed the surprise aside and replaced it with a grin. “Relax Angel, that’s the first honest thing you’ve said since you got here. I didn’t realize you were such a bastard.”

Aziraphale prickled. “I am _not_. My birth was perfectly respectable, thank you. And why must you insist on calling me that? It’s demeaning.”

Crowley’s grin lessened in wattage, but his delight was still as plain as the nose on his face. “Ngh. Figured you’d hate it less than princess.”

“You could always call me by my name.”

“Now where would the fun in that be?”

Aziraphale frowned, which only fueled Crowley’s delight more. “I came in here to ask you for something,” he said before Aziraphale could counter again.

“Ask away,” he seemed to tense again, nervous over not knowing where the conversation was going. He picked up the broom and began sweeping again so that he would have something to focus on, as well as an excuse to turn his back to Crowley so he couldn’t see his face.

All of the turning away in the world couldn’t keep Crowley’s eyes from fixing on Aziraphale. He watched him carefully, deciding to drag out the moment of uncertainty just a bit so he could watch Aziraphale squirm. “I uh,” he started, not quite certain of how to ask this, “it’s been a while since I’ve had a regular dueling partner. You’re the first person to be good enough for me to consider it, and I was wondering... ergh... if you’d be interested in sparring.”

The sweeping stopped, then Aziraphale turned back and looked at him. “Are you asking me for _help,_ Crowley?”

“A little louder why don’t you?” Crowley snarled, but the barring of his teeth did nothing to hide the pink dusting that hit his cheeks. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. “No, I am not. Let’s get one thing straight, I am not asking frivolous flouncy princes for help fighting. I just think you’re decent enough for me to use you for practicing. I can’t exactly use my full skill set against the kids.”

The smile on Aziraphale’s face didn’t fade for even a second. It was becoming clearer the longer he stayed on the ship that the stories of terror that preceded the name of Captain Crowley were just that, stories. He may have had a face of terror, but deep in his heart he was just a man who cared about children and was willing to give them a home and protection. Not that he wouldn’t kill, but he would have to have a reason. 

He shook himself out of his mental tangent. “If you would like to practice together,” he said, being careful with his choice of words (the last thing one should do is insult their captor, after all), “I would find that amenable. I would prefer it if I didn’t have to let my skills lapse while I’m here.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Crowley said. “Even if you didn’t want to duel with me, I’m dead-set on using you on the first line of defense under attack. You’re too valuable of a weapon to not use.”

For some reason, that made Aziraphale ruffle with pride. “Well then. I’m finished here if you’d like to go now.”

He extended his hand to help Crowley to his feet.

Crowley took it.

\--

The weight of the rapier in his hands put Aziraphale at ease, and he closed his eyes to ground himself. The cool rush of the sea breeze tickled the back of his neck, and he could smell the salt in the air. The grounding was always important, he felt. Helped him focus. He took a moment to roll his neck before opening his eyes. When they opened, he could see Crowley sitting on the rails and watching him with a bemused expression.

“Make fun of me all you want,” he told the captain as soon as he opened his mouth to comment on his little ritual, “but it helps me to focus when I don’t have the adrenaline of a real battle to do so.”

Crowley raised his hands defensively, little smirk still on his face. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking it. Now,” he took a moment to examine the sword he’d been handed. “If I may say so, your biggest flaw is that–“

“I didn’t ask for you to comment on my flaws.”

“–your biggest flaw,” he reaffirmed, “is that you tend to strike first and think later. Fencing is like chess: you need to be thinking four moves ahead at all times. Anticipate your partner’s movements and strike when they’re the most vulnerable.”

“And kick them in the shins when you want them to be vulnerable,” Crowley grinned.

“You cheated first,” Aziraphale tutted. “How is your shin, by the way?”

“Still dark purple,” he laughed. “You really just went all out and beat the shit out of me.”

“I was scared.”

“Good.” He stood then, and he drew his sword from its scabbard. “Let’s start.”

For a moment, Aziraphale looked like he was going to reprimand him for not wanting to actually learn, but then it clicked that his lesson might settle better if he showed him rather than told. “Alright.” He drew his own sword and took his stance. “Whenever you’re ready, Crowley.”

Red curls were tied back, then he assumed his position standing Aziraphale’s mirror. He closed his eyes for just a moment to breathe, then made the first move. It was more gesture than attack, just reaching out and tapping his rapier to Aziraphale’s. The prince straightened up when it hit, adjusting his position to be more prepared for the next move. He centered his weight lower and waited for Crowley to make another move. It didn’t come. 

_He’s baiting me,_ he realized. _Don’t rise to it. Let him make the first move._

Crowley advanced again, letting the swords meet with a _clink._

Aziraphale simply adjusted how he was standing. 

A small snarl escaped Crowley and he lunged, properly this time.

Blocking the blow was as natural as breathing for Aziraphale. He barely even bristled, just shed his sword and turned the attack on Crowley, quickly taking the advantage.

Crowley didn’t even have time to think between his initial blow and Aziraphale’s returning of it. His feet moved backward away from his opponent on instinct, and he found himself blocking blow after blow of Aziraphale’s quick strikes. It seemed that when he was not under duress, he was an even _better_ fighter, and Crowley was screwed. He ducked for a moment to block a blow and attempted to strike at Aziraphale, but he was too slow to do so and the cycle of strikes just continued against him.

“Think first, then attack,” Aziraphale reminded him, smug smile on his lips.

Crowley growled at him. He faded to get a second to breathe, then lunged at Aziraphale. It worked, and now it was the prince who was blocking the coming blows. His feet danced away from Crowley’s, and he was deceptively light on them. Each step of his was just as calculated as his blows, taking each of Crowley’s wild blows in his stride. He was _giving_ him the upper hand, Crowley realized, and he snarled his disapproval.

“Fight back you bastard. Give me your best. I can take it.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked, not even breaking a sweat.

“Yes,” Crowley demanded. He had Aziraphale backed against a wall, and he struck. The blows stopped for a moment, Aziraphale using all of his strength and focus to keep the sword from touching his body. For just a second, he looked up into Crowley’s eyes. From the light of a nearby lamp, he could see through his glasses. He had thought it a trick of the light before, but now he was certain. They were bright yellow. What’s more, his pupils had slits like a snake’s. His breath caught for a second, but then he forced himself to look away and focus. After another moment, he shed and was able to slip away to get out from under Crowley’s advantage. 

“Alright,” he said, catching his breath. “You asked for this.” 

He moved his rapier from his left hand to his right.

“Are you ready for the real battle now?”

Crowley couldn’t help it. A delighted grin spread across his features, and he lunged at Aziraphale once more. 

\--

“Anathema?” Aziraphale called out into the darkness later that night.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever seen a human with a snake’s eyes before?”

Silence filled the room once more. Anathema sat up in her hammock and leaned over to grab the lamp from the wall, bringing it between them so she could see Aziraphale’s face. “A man with snake’s eyes? Who?”

“Crowley.” He sat up. “His eyes they’re... they’re bright yellow and his pupils are long and thin. Do you think...” he bit his lip. Aziraphale had been born and raised a Christian prince, after all. Among the rest of his studies he was very well-versed in scripture and theology. “Do you think he’s a demon?” He asked, whispering the last word.

“Of course not,” she said affirmatively. “Demons don’t really exist, they’re just an invention of mankind to excuse their wrongdoings by blaming supernatural beings. There could be any number of reasons for them being yellow, most all of them medical. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Aziraphale seemed to settle a bit, leaning back against his pillows. “Of course. I knew you would have a scientific explanation.”

“There’s always a scientific explanation,” she gave him a small smile and returned the lamp to the wall.

“Well that’s me reassured. Goodnight, Anathema.”

“Goodnight Aziraphale.” She leaned back into her hammock and looked up at the wall.

A man with snake’s eyes. She assumed it was a medical possibility, but she wasn’t actually quite positive. She had only heard of such a phenomenon in the stories her aunt used to tell her: a silly bedtime story about a prince being saved from death. A prince with red curls and the eyes of a snake.

_Red._

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are appreciated! Constructive criticism, incoherent ramblings, and even the humble '<3' are treasured and valued forever!


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of the Bentley docks to restock, Aziraphale sees someone in need, and Crowley has to make a rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to the shit show, I'm your host and author. We're officially at the halfway point! This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Updates are probably gonna slow down for a while as fall semester classes have started (I'm taking 18 hours right now because I'm a masochist) so be patient with me, but I promise more chapters are on their way. <3

The days were recorded in tick marks carved into the wall of the brig. Sawdust fell to the floor as the sun rose over the horizon, the fifty fifth of its kind. Aziraphale put his knife back into its sheath and looked at the marks thoughtfully. Fifty five days since he had been brought aboard the _Bentley,_ just under two months and they had seen neither hide nor hair of Gabriel. It seemed as though for now, they were safe.

He rose from the floor where he had been kneeling and leaned against the wall to pull his boots on. The clothes and boots borrowed from Crowley fit well enough, but he would be grateful for a chance to purchase his own when they docked in a few days. Crowley’s feet were just a bit bigger than Aziraphale’s, and his body was longer and thinner, meaning everything fit just ill enough to be uncomfortable. Not that he would ever complain about such a thing; he had been so very grateful for the borrowed clothes, and he had expressed as much to Crowley.

_Don’t mention it,_ he’d said, _But next time you plan to get kidnapped don’t arrange it for when you’re still in your pajamas._

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh at that remark, and he smiled to himself now as he thought of it. Quiet, so as to not wake Anathema, he slipped out of the room and headed toward the kitchen.

Warlock was already up and kneading bread dough. “You’re late.”

“I’m afraid I overslept a bit,” He joined the boy behind the counter and started working alongside him. He floured his hand and began working the dough, their movements quickly becoming identical. A small smile crept over Aziraphale’s lips. “What are we making for breakfast, Warlock?”

“Well the bread obviously,” he tossed his head to move his hair out of his eyes, “and there’s still some dried apples left we can throw in porridge. Captain says he’s gonna pick up a new orange tree when we dock, which means we’ll finally have some fruit other than the canned and dried stuff.”

Aziraphale dusted his floury hands off on his breeches and went to the store to bring up what they needed. “That will be good. I worry about you all not getting enough fruits and vegetables.”

Warlock grinned. “You fret like a nanny.”

“Well that’s what you all need,” he chuckled. “Captain Crowley takes good care of you all but you do need to be fretted over sometimes.”

“A fearless band of pirates needs to be fretted over?”

“When those pirates are all going through growth spurts, I’m afraid so.” He set the bag of dried apples down on the counter. “I think there’s some cheese left, too. Should we bring that up for breakfast or save it?”

“Save it,” said Warlock. “I’ve got plans for it.”

“Aye, Captain,” Aziraphale joked, which earned a smile from the boy.

\--

“Oi, Angel,” Crowley said, slipping up behind Aziraphale while he wiped down tables after breakfast. He perked up at the sound of Crowley’s voice and turned to face him.

“Hello, Captain,” he smiled at him, almost radiant enough for Crowley to flinch. “Something I can help you with?”

It took him a moment to recover, but Crowley managed to keep his cool demeanor and leaned up against the wall. “We’re ahead of schedule, it looks like we’re gonna dock tomorrow morning, and I need to go over protocol with you before you go out aimlessly and ruin everything.” He was teasing Aziraphale, as was plain from the smirk on his face. He knew he was being teased, but Aziraphale found himself rolling his eyes anyway.

“Oh really, I highly doubt I’ll ruin anything,” he tutted, and turned away from Crowley, partially to focus on his cleaning and partially to push down the strange fluttering sensation he felt in his chest. Where the hell did that come from?

Crowley snorted. “You’re gonna run off and get into trouble and fuck something up, I’m sure of it. Meet me in my quarters when you’re finished up here, and I’ll very politely tell you how not to fuck anything up.”

“Will you be having the same conversation with Anathema?”

“No, because I trust her to not fuck anything up.”

“Do you have to keep using such vulgar phrasing?”

“No, but it sure is fun,” he flashed a grin, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but return it with a small smile. He walked the rag he was holding over to the wall and hung it on a hook to dry, then wiped his hands on his breeches.

“I’m finished now, if it’s a suitable time.”

Crowley nodded and walked with him out of the mess and down below decks. Aziraphale stuck to his side, walking just behind him. They passed by where Anathema was talking to the children, teaching them about shifts in pressure that come with different weather patterns. They hung on her every word, all lying spread out on the floor around a large nautical map. If Aziraphale had blinked, he would have missed the small smile that tugged at Crowley’s lips for just a moment. “Oi,” he called out. The children looked up. “Who’s sailing my ship?”

“The sails are up, we’re keeping an eye on it,” Adam called back to him, then promptly turned back to the map, completely unworried about the possibility of reprimand.

A bemused laugh fell from Crowley’s lips, and Aziraphale found himself smiling at the sound. It made that weird fluttering sensation return to his chest, but this time he elected to let it exist without being pushed away.

They slipped below decks and Crowley opened the door for Aziraphale, who thanked him as he stepped inside. Almost two months he had been on the ship, but he had not been down in Crowley’s quarters since the first day he had arrived and had been thrown out of them. He stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to do until Crowley gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Aziraphale sat, and Crowley did the same on his side. He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. He looked utterly ridiculous all sprawled out, especially compared to Aziraphale who was sitting upright, stiff as a board, with his hands folded in his lap.

“Right,” Crowley said, “When we dock tomorrow, I’m gonna need you to stick close to me. I’ll get you what you need in the way of clothes, but you can’t wander off if you don’t want to risk being recognized. Your brother seems like the kind who has spies everywhere, and you being spotted could be enough to put us all in trouble, got it?”

A rush of cold hit Aziraphale. He had been in such a state of euphoria in his new life, he had almost forgotten that he was on the run; a supposed hostage, suspected dead. Crowley was right, Gabriel had spies everywhere. All it would take was one spotting at Crowley’s side to have the navy in pursuit of the _Bentley,_ and Aziraphale couldn’t risk that. He had grown fond of the crew, and they had started to warm up to him (Adam was the lone holdout, he still refused to be civil towards him). The thought of putting them in danger made his stomach churn.

“Would it be better if I were to stay on the ship and keep out of sight?” He asked, lump rising into his throat.

Crowley shrugged, and picked up a stray paper on his desk, beginning to fold it in different ways in order to occupy his hands. “I think as long as we keep a low profile it’ll be fine, but you have to do exactly as I say. Stay close to me, don’t make a scene, don’t go off on your own. You’ve been cooped up on here for a while, and I know that’s enough to drive anyone crazy. You get a break just like everyone else.” The unspoken _”You’re one of us now,”_ sat thick in the air between them. Even unsaid, the thought caused the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth to twitch upwards for a brief second.

“Thank you,” he said, and seemed to loosen up a bit. “Not just for the shore leave, but for being willing to protect me. It’s quite nice of you.”

The paper that Crowley had been playing with was quickly crumpled up and thrown directly at Aziraphale’s forehead. It took a moment for him to realize that he had been attacked by it, and he found the paper ball sitting on his lap as he registered Crowley saying “Shut it with the thank-yous. I’m keeping my crew safe, and if guarding princes is required to do that, then I’m watching you like a hawk. This is for their benefit, not yours.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said, trying to stifle a laugh. “Was assaulting me really necessary?”

“A paper ball being thrown at you is hardly assault, Angel,” Crowley said, holding up his hand. A long, thin scar was etched into it where Aziraphale had struck him fifty five days ago. Aziraphale winced at the sight of it. He opened his mouth to apologize for the umpteenth time, but Crowley waved him off before he could. “Nononono, we’ve been over this. No apologizing. No guilt. ‘S not allowed. I forbid it. It’s forbidden.”

The guilt that had been etched into Aziraphale’s face was replaced with amusement. “Alright, I won’t apologize. Would you prefer scathing comments about how I’m a superior fencer?”

Crowley laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Sure, scathe away.”

\--

Until the day he died, Aziraphale would insist that it hadn’t been his fault that he ran off.

When they docked, Crowley let the crew off first, sending them all off with a bit of money to spend on whatever they needed and strict instructions to be back within two hours. They managed to drag Anathema along with them, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale on board the ship to keep guard over it. Aziraphale had taken the opportunity of access to clean water to really give the kitchen a thorough scrub while Crowley had climbed up to the topsail in order to get a bird’s eye view of his ship and the people milling about near it. He took in every movement of every person, not trusting a single one near his ship.

When the children returned, he gave Adam a reminder of protocol and took Aziraphale out into the town.

It was the first time his feet had touched solid ground since he’d been taken from his bed. His legs wobbled.

“The world’s stopped moving,” he said, then realized how thoroughly stupid he must sound.

Crowley gave him an amused smirk as well as a cape to throw over his face and shoulders. “You’ve got your sea legs now; it’ll take you a while to get rid of them again.”

Aziraphale had tried his best to stick to Crowley’s rules and side and had done so while they bought him clothes and boots that actually fit (It would be nice to finally not slide every time he took a step). It was when they went off in pursuit of the orange tree that things went south. 

Crowley was haggling with the merchant, and Aziraphale at his side was looking around the outdoor market. He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds of people milling about, going through their days, as well as the smells of the various foods being sold at different stalls. He had never been so _public_ before. He’d spent the last two months on a ship and almost three decades before that locked behind castle walls. Being around the common man, that was a new experience for Aziraphale. The air was warm, and he drew the hood of the cape back enough to allow air to flow on the back of his neck. In doing so, he increased his field of vision, and when his eyes opened he caught sight of three children huddled behind the corner of the nearest building.

They varied in age, one clearly older than the other two but not nearly old enough to be on her own. The oldest looked to be perhaps seven, and her companions were hardly older than toddlers. Aziraphale focused on them. The girl hunched over the smaller children, appearing to be whispering instructions to them. She made motions that he interpreted as a command to stay put and out of sight, then crept around the corner, eyeing up a cart. 

There was a click in the back of Aziraphale’s mind as he realized what was happening. She was going to steal to feed the smaller children. 

The right thing to do was obvious: tell Crowley. He would swoop in to feed them in a heartbeat, Aziraphale knew that well enough. But by the time this thought occurred to him, it was too late. The child was running up to the cart with clear purpose in her eyes. She couldn’t see the guard watching her and waiting for her to commit the crime, but Aziraphale could.

In a moment of sheer panic, he darted away from Crowley’s side. He ran toward the guard and bumped into him, looking just frantic enough with his quick steps and his hood pulled over his face to give the illusion of a thief on the run. He continued to run, praying under his breath that he had caused enough of a distraction for the girl to get away to safety.

He had, and he realized such when he heard a deep cry of “You! Thief, Stop!” Behind him and getting closer. 

His breathing quickened, growing frantic. He just kept running, unsure of what else to do. He was vaguely aware of the sound of swords being drawn as he darted behind a tree to catch his breath. Blood pulsed hard in his ears and his heart refused to slow down. One rule he had been given: stay at Crowley’s side. Don’t fuck anything up. Now he was alone and lost and on the run. He wasn’t even sure which direction he had come from, and getting back to the _Bentley_ would be nigh impossible. 

Suddenly, there was a hand in his.

Panic flashed through him until he looked up and saw Crowley’s face.

“Run.”

Aziraphale wasn’t about to ignore Crowley’s instructions a second time. 

He ran.

\--

It didn’t take very long for them to lose the guard. Crowley was much more experienced at running from the law than Aziraphale was, and he knew how to lose a tail and manage to not get lost. By the time they were able to stop running, they had re-entered the town, albeit on the other side of it, far away from the market.

There was a fountain with tall stone walls around it, and there was an unspoken agreement between them to stop and catch their breath. Aziraphale collapsed on the ground, leaning his back against the wall. His chest heaved as he fought to breathe normally, his heart still racing. His face was red with exertion, but Crowley’s was red with anger.

“One rule I gave you,” he snarled, still standing, and began to pace. He towered over Aziraphale like this, forcing him to look up at Crowley’s fuming face. “One rule. Don’t move from my side. Don’t fuck anything up. And what did you do?”

“Ran away and fucked things up, I believe.”

“Ran away and fucked things up! What in the fucking _Hell_ possessed you to run off like that? I mean for God’s sake, you don’t know this town! You don’t know the land around it! That guard could have killed you or if you’d gotten away you could have gotten lost in the forest and killed by something else!”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Were you worried about me?”

“Don’t interrupt!” Crowley barked at him. “At least you had the common sense not to lead him back to the ship, but I mean fuck, Aziraphale, you could have put us all in trouble!”

That got his attention. He tugged on Crowley’s pant leg to stop his pacing. Crowley looked down at him. “What?”

“You called me by my name.”

The anger drained from Crowley’s face and was replaced with something... else. Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He proceeded anyway. “You were worried about me, and you called me by my name.”

Crowley just let out a sigh. He rubbed his eyes, his fingers reaching under his glasses to dig into his closed lids, then he ran them through his hair to get it out of his face. He seemed to be thinking very hard about whether he was even going to respond to Aziraphale’s accusations. Suddenly, he was sitting on the ground next to Aziraphale, leaning his head against the wall. 

“You really are a pain in the ass you know,” he murmured. Apparently that was a ‘no’ on responding. Alright then.

“If I’m so inconvenient to have around,” Aziraphale said after a moment, “why bother with me? Why keep me around? You could have thrown me overboard or ditched me somewhere or even killed me by now. You’ve had plenty of chances. Why save me if I’m such a bother?”

The anger was gone from Crowley’s face. His lips twitched upwards, and a pink flush spread across his cheeks. “You’re good with a sword,” he said after a moment. “You’re too valuable as an asset to give up now. Besides, we had a deal.” He turned his head to look at Aziraphale, who looked back at him. Their eyes met, and that weird fluttering found its way back into Aziraphale’s chest. Funnily enough it was also there in Crowley’s. He suddenly found it impossible to look directly at Aziraphale, almost as if there was bright light emanating from his features. He turned and rummaged through his bag, pulling out his recently purchased wine.

He used his teeth to uncork the bottle, then handed it to Aziraphale in an offer of the first sip. His companion thanked him, then took a swig. Crowley took the bottle back and had a fortifying sip before looking back at Aziraphale. “My turn for a question.”

“Ask away, my dear.” The flutters in Crowley’s chest grew warm at the endearment, but he pushed them down once more. Another sip of wine.

“Why’d you do that back there? Cause the scene in the first place? Did the guy look at you funny or something?”

“I spotted a child about to slip up and steal food. She looked young; seven perhaps.” Crowley softened at the words. “Trying to feed two more that looked even younger.”

“And you wanted her to be able to get away with it” Aziraphale nodded. “You should have just told me, Angel. You know I would have gone and helped her.”

“She was already on the move by the time I realized what was happening. I couldn’t go in and stop her, but I had just enough time to distract the guard. It probably wasn’t the right way to handle the situation, I admit, but I panicked.” He looked down at his hands and began to twitch, graciously accepting the bottle of wine when it was offered back to him.

“Definitely not,” Crowley said, definitely one hundred percent NOT freaking out when their fingers brushed on the bottle handoff. “I still say you should have let me do the intervening. But it’s nice to know you’re capable of sticking your neck out for others.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, surprised at the words. “Of course I am! My dear boy, do you really think I completely lack empathy? Any person with a heart would intervene to help a starving child.”

Crowley gave him a pointed look and pulled the bottle back out of Aziraphale’s hands. “Yeah, no offense Angel but most of your lot _don’t_ have basic human empathy. Your brother in particular. Most people aren’t willing to put themselves in the path of an angry guard to help one starving child, but your brother isn’t even willing to give up a diamond or two to feed hundreds of them,” he snarled. “And your father wasn’t any better. Excuse me if I’m not willing to trust all of your kind when it comes to the matter of having a heart.”

Aziraphale seemed to sink back into himself. “I know,” he murmured, and Crowley’s angry demeanor dissipated once again as quickly as it had arrived. “That’s why I did what I did,” Aziraphale continued. “I have spent my entire life watching people struggle and starve and die in the streets, the children especially. It felt as if I was the only one who could see them, because as much as I would beg my father and my mother and my brother to reach out and help them, they would tell me to shut up and then do nothing about it.” His eyes fell downcast, landing where his hands were clenched in his lap. Crowley watched him, eyes and heart softening. “I always thought,” Aziraphale said, voice cracking, “that as a prince I could at least do _something_ helpful. Use my position to keep people from suffering and dying. That felt like my duty. If God truly ordained the monarchs, then shouldn’t they be doing His works? Helping His people?” His breathing quickened as he spoke, and when his eyes rose to look at Crowley again, they were filled with hot tears. “But I’m a second son,” he croaked, “I’m worse than useless. I exist to look nice and do as I’m told. Sit quietly until it’s time to sing my family’s praises. Be a pawn and face wrath if I don’t comply. Be married and shipped off without a word of my own input to someone I’ve never even met before! I-I know how it feels to be helpless and I don’t like to see others in the same state.”

Crowley’s lip quivered for a moment, unsure of how to respond to that dump of information. The tears, he decided, the tears he could help with. He dug around for a second and offered Aziraphale a handkerchief, which was taken with a wet sob. He watched as Aziraphale wiped his eyes of his tears, then took a few breaths to steady himself. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said after a moment, returning the damp handkerchief to Crowley. It was tucked away, then Crowley gave him the wine bottle back. Aziraphale took a drink.

“This fiancé of yours,” he said, unsure of how else to start, “he must be pretty bad if it was enough to make you feel that helpless. Make you prefer being kidnapped and possibly killed.”

Aziraphale shrugged, his eyes and nose still red from crying. “I suppose he could have been worse. He... he wasn’t harsh or-or cruel or violent. But I could–“ he looked Crowley in the eyes. “You’re going to think I’m being ridiculous.”

“Say it anyway,” Crowley said, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes. They were such a deep blue, he noticed. So similar to the sea he loved so very much. He would drown in them if Aziraphale would let him. He swallowed hard, a lump in his throat.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, finding himself unable to look away from Crowley’s eyes, wishing the damn glasses weren’t in the way. “I realized that I could never love him.”

“Love?” Crowley murmured, the word clumsy on his lips.

Aziraphale’s eyes were transfixed on those lips, and blood rushed to his face that only had a little to do with the wine he had consumed. “We had absolutely nothing in common. We could live civilly with one another, but there would never be love.” He found himself scooting closer to Crowley, an action that he was sure his mind hadn’t initiated. “I... I know it sounds ridiculous. But nobody has ever loved me before, not really. Growing up I would hear stories of true love, and as an adult I realize they’re silly, but I... I thought perhaps someday I would find someone who loved me.” 

He blinked slowly after saying that, and Crowley found himself mourning the loss of the eye contact. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat, and tried to find his footing in the conversation. “Princes don’t marry for love,” he said, dumbly.

“No,” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips. “They don’t. We marry for alliance. I’d hoped that I could at least choose what alliance was made so that I could decide how best I could personally help my people, but I didn’t even get that.” He wiped his eyes again on his sleeve, then moved to pass the wine bottle back to Crowley.

Their fingers brushed again, but this time, neither of them moved.

They sat still in that moment, just looking at each other, their fingers resting on the other’s.

“I could learn to live without love,” Aziraphale said, looking up into Crowley’s eyes and still not moving his hand. His heart pounded in his chest.

“Sure you could,” Crowley said, leaning in closer to him.

“I’ve never needed before, why should marriage be any different?” Aziraphale licked his lips, and Crowley found himself transfixed by the sight of his little pink tongue darting out between two dark, wine stained lips.

“It’s overrated,” he agreed, and lifted the hand that wasn’t on the bottle up from where it had rested on the ground. It brushed to wipe the one remaining tear from Aziraphale’s cheek, then rested on the underside of his jaw.

Aziraphale’s free hand slid up to rest on Crowley’s thigh, and he craned his neck upwards. “I could be perfectly happy the rest of my life without love,” he whispered.

Time slowed down around them, and it was Aziraphale who finally broke eye contact to let his eyes flutter closed. 

Crowley did the same, leaning in. Closer. Closer.

“Hey! Captain!”

Crowley jerked back suddenly and scrambled away from Aziraphale who was sitting in the dirt and had turned dark red with embarrassment. 

Adam came running up from the bottom of the hill, and Crowley straightened up when he saw what was at his heels. “Where the hell did you get that thing?”

The mutt sat diligently at Adam’s feet, looking up at Crowley with a very self-pleased look as it panted to catch its breath. Adam grinned. “Someone was giving them away for free. Look how cute he is! And he’s already trained. Can I keep him? Please Captain?”

Aziraphale stood up finally, brushing the dirt off his pants. “I don’t think a dog is conducive to living peacefully on a pirate ship, Adam. Doesn’t it need meat and to go on walks?”

The boy’s face darkened when Aziraphale spoke. “I didn’t ask _you,_ I asked Captain Crowley. You aren’t in charge of me, Princess.”

“Hey,” Crowley snapped at the insult, and Adam turned back to look at him. “You realize there’s a cat on board, right? And Jasmine’s way more vital to our life than a dog.”

Adam gave him what could only be described as puppy eyes, and he reached down to pick up the mutt so that it could give them to Crowley as well. “Dog’s a sweetheart, he won’t pick fights with the cat, I promise. Please? You got to keep your pet,” he gestured his head at Aziraphale, who looked for a second as if he was going to protest.

Crowley couldn’t help the smirk that fell on his lips. “Alright, but the second it starts any trouble it’ll be the main course at dinner.” 

Adam grinned and let the dog back down to the ground. “Come on Dog, back to the ship, let’s go. Thanks Captain!” Adam called over his shoulder, already running back for the docks with the mutt close to his side.

Crowley finally looked back at Aziraphale, who was looking down at his hands and picking dirt out from under his nails, still flushed in the cheeks. “Ergh... we should probably be heading back.”

“What?” Aziraphale said, snapping out of his reverie and looking up at him. The pink stayed on his cheeks. “Oh, yes, um... rather.” He straightened his clothes and walked back toward the ship with Crowley, neither of them saying a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are valued, from constructive criticism to incoherent ramblings to the humble '<3'. Come yell at me on tumblr over at senseofenterprise.


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realization. A story. A drink under the stars. A name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said updates were gonna slow down? I got high on them Steven Universe Movie feels and cracked this all out in one sitting. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> I'm sorry for the lack of Anathema in this chapter. She's gonna shine soon, I promise.

They continued on as if nothing had happened. No, that wasn’t quite true. Captain Crowley had softened toward Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was getting braver around him, they just didn’t talk about their almost-kiss.

Crowley blamed the wine. Like he would ever want to kiss stupid rich noble bastards under any other circumstance. Had to be the alcohol. Except... well... Aziraphale _wasn’t_ some stupid rich noble bastard. Sure he had been born one, but he was the only one who had ever bothered to open his eyes and look around. Take notice of normal people and actually want to reach out and help them. If he’d had a voice, he would have been a guardian angel to the poor. He had no way of proving it, of course. For all Crowley knew, Adam was right, and the prince was pulling a fast one on him with a sob story. 

No. Crowley had looked into his eyes. Saw Aziraphale baring his soul and saw pure, unadulterated honesty fall from his lips. Aziraphale was different. Aziraphale had a heart and a soul. And he was intelligent. They would speak over dinner about philosophy, and he had interesting opinions but also _listened_ to Crowley and took him seriously, always eager to hear other opinions. He was eager to learn and have his worldview disproven. He was also quick-witted. He always had a remark ready, often with a sharp tongue to accompany it. And he was a good cook! He was worth keeping around for that alone. His kids were eating well, and Warlock was honing his skill, and Crowley would marry him and take him with him into retirement if it meant eating like this forever.

Where the _Hell_ did that thought come from?

Aziraphale also blamed the wine, but even more himself for allowing himself to fall into the situation. He was a prince for heaven’s sake. He may have run away to buy himself some time but... he knew that eventually he would have to come to his senses and go home and find someone respectable to marry. Just hopefully his stunt would show Gabriel that he should have a say in it. It didn’t matter that he was starting to fall for Crowley, he had a duty to do.

Wait–

Was he... starting to fall for Crowley?

A wave of overwhelming guilt washed over him. 

He thought back to the moment, how their hands had lingered. How the touch had sent sparks running up Aziraphale’s spine, how he had tingled for hours afterward at the thought of their fingers touching, How Crowley had cupped his jaw and how he had run his hand up Crowley’s thigh, his skin warm under his skin. How he had smelled the wine on Crowley’s breath and had the overwhelming urge to drink it from his lips. How warm Crowley’s breath had felt, and how nice that had been on his skin. He thought about how Crowley moved when he fought, his legs quick and his arms quicker. How he looked with sweat running down his face, making loose red curls stick to his forehead. How he opened his shirt after one of their duels to cool off, and Aziraphale had caught sight of the dusting of dark hair on his chest and had been unable to look away. How Crowley’s fingers were just so long and nimble, and wouldn’t they feel marvelous touching him and–

Oh, _fuck._  
\--

It wasn’t that Adam _disliked_ Aziraphale, exactly. He just didn’t like him particularly. And it wasn’t personal, it was just how he’d been raised.

Adam was the one member of the _Bentley’s_ crew that had been on board his entire life. Brian and Pepper and Wensley had come on as children, and Warlock had only been with them for about a year. Adam on the other hand had been there since he was a newborn, and that was thanks to Anthony.

Anthony had told him when he was old enough to ask questions. He was always honest with him. Always answered his questions. Adam had been a foundling: dropped on the steps of a convent hours after birth. Abandoned. Parents unknown. Unloved. A child left at the mercy of nuns. He had a hole in his identity that would never be filled.

But Anthony had been there, visiting the convent he’d been raised in. He, Adam had been told, was a foundling too. In a backwards way, the shared fate made them close to kin. When Adam had been brought inside, well, Anthony had offered to take him. He was sixteen years old, had only just become Captain Crowley, and was still trying to find his footing in the world. By all logic he never should have taken a newborn on to his ship full of teenagers. But he did it anyway. Because he saw himself in Adam. Because he didn’t want him to face the same upbringing of struggle that he’d had.

The nuns had handed the baby over, and Captain Crowley had taken Adam to his ship.

He’d seen quite a lot in eleven years. Undiscovered places, impossible battles, great romances, great heartbreaks; never staying in one place for very long. His only lifelong consistency was Captain Crowley and the misery he saw in every town they visited. It was easy to forget among the familial happiness that existed on the _Bentley,_ but in every single kingdom there was struggle. People starving, children without shoes, families being removed from their homes because they couldn’t afford to pay the landlord. Poverty. Struggle.

_”I don’t understand,”_ he’d said one day when he was old enough to pick up on the pattern. Six, maybe. _”Isn’t there supposed to be someone helping them?”_

_“Supposed to be and are are very different things,” _ Crowley had said, his face torn between bemusement and great sorrow. _”I do everything I can in every town, but it’s not enough. I just don’t have the resources to do what they need.”_

_“But there has to be money somewhere. It exists, right? And it has to go to and come from people. Where is it?”_

_Crowley pointed up at the castle that was visible on the horizon. “There.”_

_“It’s just sitting in the castle?”_

_“In a way,” Crowley had sat on the floor at this point, and Adam had climbed into his lap to sit. “The nobles and the royals. They’re the ones with all the money. They get so swept up in their own lives that they forget about all the lowly people out here that are starving. To them, it’s more important that armies have new ships and their wives have new dresses than that the children in the village have shoes on their feet or enough food to keep them alive.”_

_Adam’s tiny heart had broken. “Why?”_

_“Because they’re blinded by greed.” He’d clenched his fist, Adam remembered._

_“They’re blind?”_

_“Metaphorically blind,” he snorted. “They don’t see what’s important because they’re focused on other, stupid stuff.”_

_“But why?”_

_“That’s an excellent question, it’s just one I don’t have the answer to.” He ran his fingers through Adam’s curls. “If you find the answer for me, I’ll hand the ship over to you tomorrow. Keep asking questions, Adam. Figure the world out, because you have to understand it if you’re going to save it.”_

Adam shook the memory from his head. It had replayed in his mind every time he saw their captive. He leaned up against the rails of an upper deck and looked down, watching Aziraphale interacting with his friends.

Warlock had made something new for dinner and had insisted on sharing it with their friends now instead of waiting until their usual mealtime. Aziraphale was carrying the bowls out on to the deck from the kitchen, and set them in front of the crew, then put down a loaf of steaming, warm bread. Warlock was vibrating with pride, and it seemed to be contagious, because the princess was standing beside him with a radiant smile. Adam’s eyes caught sight of Captain Crowley emerging from his quarters, and though he couldn’t hear what was being said, it was clear that he was laughing at the sight of the crew gathered around and eating early. Crowley walked up to the table, and for a second he laid his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, causing the princess to turn pink at the cheeks, but his smile didn’t fade. Adam’s eyes narrowed. What the hell was the Captain playing at? He was the one who had taught him to never trust those scumbags, and here he was... touching one! Getting close! Fraternizing! A scowl crossed his features. He really thought Anthony was smarter than this; he hadn’t expected him to fall for the princess’ sob story. 

He sat down on the deck, legs crossing as he leaned forward to continue watching through the rails. Dog, who had been sitting reliantly at his master’s heels, took the opportunity to climb into Adam’s lap and lay his head down on his thigh. Adam’s fingers found their way behind his ear and began to scratch, which made him feel a little less angry. He sat watching them for a minute longer until Pepper caught sight of him and started waving him down. “Adam!” she called out, “Come try this, it’s amazing!”

Reluctantly, he coaxed Dog out of his lap and started making the climb down. 

\--

“Got anything to do tonight?” Crowley asked, climbing up to sit on the table Aziraphale was trying to wipe down. That earned him a laugh, as well as a half-hearted slap to the chest with the rag.

“Nothing as soon as you get down and let me finish, you pest,” Aziraphale told him, and Crowley moved exactly six inches to the left so that he could wipe down the spot he’d just been sitting in. “Why do you ask? Would you like to get in one more round of dueling today?”

Crowley climbed down only after Aziraphale had finished the table. “Nah, I got something else in mind. Finish up here and meet me up at the topsail in ten minutes.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Aziraphale smiled and finished the last table as Crowley departed.

He climbed up to where he was told and waited patiently. True to his word, Crowley arrived ten minutes later, a drawstring bag hanging around his wrist. He sat down next to Aziraphale and opened it, pulling out a bottle of brown and two tumblers. “Thought we should celebrate,” he said, getting comfortable.

“What are we celebrating?” Aziraphale asked, and found those funny flutters coming up in his chest again. After what had happened a few weeks ago... well sitting up here with Crowley under the light of the stars seemed dangerous enough. Adding alcohol, well, that was a recipe for disaster. He began to fidget with a loose thread on his shirt sleeve.

Crowley opened the bottle with his teeth and set the cork down before pouring the first drink for both of them. “We’re celebrating the fact that you’ve been on the ship for eighty days. Almost three whole months and I haven’t killed you yet,” he joked.

“Anathema’s been on just as long, shouldn’t she get a celebration as well?” Aziraphale asked, taking the glass when Crowley offered it to him.

“I’ll catch her tomorrow,” Crowley said, and suddenly he was pink in the cheeks. “I wanted to celebrate with just you tonight.” 

Aziraphale’s heart pounded in his chest, but he clinked his glass to Crowley’s when it was offered. “To finding a home,” Aziraphale said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“To finding a friend,” Crowley said in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered at the sight, and he decided to drown the softness in his heart with the first sip of his drink.

“You know,” he said, changing the subject before it became dangerous, “I grew up hearing stories of the Pirate Captain Crowley, even as a small child. That wasn’t you, was it? I mean surely not; you can’t be much older than me.”

Crowley grinned, taking a drink before getting comfortable. “Can’t be much older? I’m sure that we’re the same age. If anything, Angel, I’m younger than you.” His voice bordered on laughing as he leaned back against the wall and let his legs spread out in front of him. “If your question is ‘have I always been the Pirate Crowley,’ then the answer is no. I took the name over when the last one retired. And he took over the name when the one before him left and so on and so forth. I used to be the first mate just like Adam is now.”

“So Crowley isn’t your real name then?” Aziraphale scooted a bit closer to his companion. While Crowley was splayed out and slouching, Aziraphale sat upright against the wall in a manner that took up as little space as possible. For all the time he had spent with the pirates, he was still a born and bred prince, and some habits were hard to shake.

“No,” Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale took another drink. “Crowley is not my actual name. It’s more a title than anything else. It comes with a certain reputation; strikes fear into the hearts of maidens and all that. Not that you maidens get scared of it; just aroused.” The remark earned him a gentle slap on the arm, but he returned a cheeky grin and took another sip of his whiskey. “When I’m ready to take over, Adam’ll become Captain Crowley,” he said thoughtfully. “Shit; imagine that. Gangly him all arms and legs commanding the seas with an iron fist,” he laughed, and got a giggle from Aziraphale in return.

“That will be quite a sight to see. I’m sure he’ll grow into it long before the task actually comes to it.” Now Aziraphale was never a lightweight, but something about whatever Crowley had poured for them was giving him more courage than he usually had. Half a glass in, he allowed himself to move closer to Crowley and gently run his finger across the back of his hand. “I’m sure you’ll be doing this for a long time yet, my dear, and he’ll have plenty of time to get ready.”

Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest. His ears turned bright red, his mouth grew dry, and he took another sip to settle his nerves. “Don’t you worry your pretty head Angel,” was his voice shaky or was that just Aziraphale’s imagination? “I’ve got no plans for death or retirement just yet. Still too much to do and see”

“Indeed,” If there was one thing Aziraphale loved most about his new life, it was all of the different sights he was granted. There were so many people to meet and sights to see and foods to try, and he knew that Crowley and his ship were his ticket to that life. But it wasn’t as if he was using Crowley for the ship: he had genuinely grown to enjoy his company. More than enjoyed. He craved it. He needed it. His finger wandered farther than he normally would have let it, now brushing up and down the length of Crowley’s forearm. He couldn’t help but marvel at the feeling of tight muscle under his finger, his bony arms proving to have more strength than previously thought. Certainly, he didn’t just use Crowley as a meal ticket or an adventure. In the months they had spent together, Aziraphale had come to know him. They shared food and wine and experiences. He bared his heart to Crowley in a way that he had never shown it to anyone before. Daringly, he pulled Crowley’s hand into his lap, palm up, and traced his finger along his wrist and forearm, memorizing every hair and freckle. 

Every atom of Crowley’s being was telling him to speak, scream, pull back, breathe, anything at all other than sit there frozen like an idiot. He should have pulled his arm back but–oh. That was nice. Aziraphale’s fingers were gently drumming up the inside of his forearm and it was the most delicate and adoring touch that Crowley had ever received in his life. Ever since their conversation at the well, he had been dreaming about Aziraphale touching him and all the different scenarios that could have surrounded it. His guard was down. It registered in his mind that he had been silent for far too long and eventually he caught a breath and said the first thing that came to mind.

“My real name is Anthony.”

He wasn’t sure why he said it. He had not been called that in many years. The only other person who knew it was Adam, and he had never used it to address him; only “Captain” or “Crowley.” He swallowed, hard, and looked up at the stars while Aziraphale wrapped his mind around what he had just said. After a moment, Crowley lowered his gaze and locked on to Aziraphale’s. The prince hesitated for a moment, then lifted his fingers from Crowley’s arm and up to his face. Crowley flinched, but Aziraphale pushed through and carefully lifted the glasses from in front of his face. He screwed his eyes shut when the glasses were lifted, but after a gentle brush of Aziraphale’s thumb on his cheek, he let them open.

His heart pounded, ready for the disgust. Ready for the rejection. The terror.

It didn’t come.

Blue gazed into gold. “Anthony,” Aziraphale repeated, his voice as reverent as a priest saying benediction. His palm rested against Crowley’s cheek, cradling his face. Crowley closed his eyes for just a moment and leaned into the touch. Suddenly, as if he realized what he was doing, he jerked away from his hand. Panic filled his eyes, but Aziraphale just moved his hand from where it had been on his face and put it back on his own lap.

“I-I...” Crowley closed his eyes and swallowed, but he did not put his glasses back on. “At least I think it’s my name,” he amended, his voice frantic. “I was a foundling, ya know, and so I’m not quite uh, not quite sure about the details but,” he looked down at his lap, feeling overwhelmed. Then his eyes darted, and he was looking at Aziraphale’s hand where it rested on his lap. That soft thigh, those delicate fingers. “But I... I’m pretty sure that’s what my name was. Or would have been. Not really sure. Anyway, it’s what I was called in the convent where I grew up. Before coming here.”

Before he could panic any more, the soft touches returned on his arm, then became a hand in his; the grip firm and reassuring. “My dear boy, you don’t have to share anything that you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Crowley said, voice shaking. He drained his drink and screwed up every ounce of courage he had. “Come on.” He pulled himself to his feet then offered Aziraphale a hand, which was taken.

Together, they climbed down from the highest deck and Crowley took Aziraphale back into his quarters. Aziraphale had no idea what to expect, what to say; he just followed diligently and kept his hand in Crowley’s. The captain peeked into the rooms along the corridor as they walked, ensuring that the children were all sleeping soundly before he pulled Aziraphale inside. 

He finally let go of Aziraphale’s hand, and the prince stood dumbly in the center of the room while he closed the door.

Crowley took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’ve never shown anyone this before.” He crossed the room to his desk, and Aziraphale found himself sitting down on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. He sat upright, paying rapt attention to Crowley’s movements. The fierce, ruthless, trembling pirate captain opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a worn, tattered piece of cloth that had been white at some point, but that had greyed with time. Hands shaking, he handed it to the prince who took it with gentle reverence.

His fingers brushed the fabric, running them along the tattered edges. The fabric was dear, that he could tell. It was incredibly soft even with time and had cost a pretty penny all those years ago. His eyes caught on the silver thread in the bottom corner where “Anthony” had been embroidered by hand in script. His breath caught in his throat and he touched the thread with adoration. This kind of embroidery–well, whoever had made it was either of nobility or worked for them, because this would have taken years of training and skill. Aziraphale would know; after all, he had the same skills. He continued to look at the fabric–a blanket, he surmised–with reverence for something so dear to his friend. 

“I was found wrapped in it,” Crowley said, his voice barely a whisper so as to not break. “kept it with me all these years cause it’s my only clue about where I come from or who I really am.” 

Aziraphale looked up at him finally, still clutching the fabric. Then, he reached out his hand to pat the mattress beside him. Crowley hesitated for a moment, then sat close to him, their thighs flush together. Aziraphale handed the blanket back to him. “If that’s the name you’ve claimed for yourself,” Aziraphale said, finally, “then it’s your name. But it’s obvious to me that whoever made that must have put every ounce of love they had into it. It’s beautiful, it really is. And that kind of embroidery would take quite a bit of time and skill. Somebody poured love into making that for you.”

Tears formed in Crowley’s eyes, threatening to spill down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he laughed, sounding dangerously close to a sob, “they loved the idea of me. Then somebody must have seen these,” he pointed at his eyes, “and realized I was something horrible and unworthy of love. I was gotten rid of. Unlovable, that’s what I am.”

“How can you say that with all of these children around who you love and who love you back unconditionally?” Aziraphale, returned his hand to Crowley’s cheek. This time, he did not jerk away. He leaned into the touch and as his eyes closed, the tears ran down his cheek.

“I’m a meal ticket and a free ride to them, Angel. And I keep them around because they’re reliable.”

“Stop that,” he tutted, leaning in closer. “You love them. Deny it all you want, but you do. You want to keep them safe and warm and fed and cared for, and in return they are loyal to a fault and would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“Only because I don’t let them see what I really am.” He pulled back, and his sorrow turned into anger once again. His eyes flew open. “I’m a monster. A freak. And If I let any of them see that, they would run away screaming.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Aziraphale took his hand and squeezed it. The words came flowing out of him, his soul doing the speaking before his brain could stop him. “Because they don’t see things on the surface, they see who you really are. And so do I. You put up a rough exterior, but it’s clear as day to anyone who looks at you close enough. Your eyes aren’t ugly, they aren’t monstrous. They aren’t yellow, they’re a deep, shining gold. The same gold that your heart is made of. The heart that looks at children and even stuffy runaway princes,” he laughed here, and Crowley couldn’t help but soften and laugh with him, “and sees what’s really underneath. What’s inside of every one of us. A need to be wanted. A need to be safe. A need...” his eyes met Crowley’s once more. Neither of them breathed for a moment, and Aziraphale’s gaze flicked down to Crowley’s lips before landing on his eyes again. “A need to be loved.”

Crowley’s soul felt raw. Had laid his very being in Aziraphale’s hands, and Aziraphale had given his back. His lip quivered for a second as he soaked in the words that had been spoken and were now floating in the air between them. 

Finally, he remembered to breathe, and then Aziraphale did the same. Crowley’s heart lurched, and then so did he. His arms shot out and found Aziraphale’s cheeks, holding them in place as his lips found Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale’s arms went flying, wrapping around Crowley’s neck, fingers running through those red curls. He kissed him back happily, eagerly, as if it was what he had been made to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are valued and appreciated, from constructive criticism, to incoherent rambling, to the humble '<3'. I reply to every single one! Come yell at me on tumblr over at senseofenterprise


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romantic love. Platonic love. Familial love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep lying about updates slowing down. I think I'm just so close to the end now that I want to finish before the semester really picks up. Anyway, here's some stuff. Two more chapters and an epilogue to go!

There were fingers curled in Crowley’s hair, grasping desperately for some kind of traction as lips clashed against lips; one pair plump and soft and the other pair thin and red. It was desperate, it was frantic, it was primal. The fingers tugged slightly, pulling with them a whimper from the very back of Crowley’s throat. He felt the lips that were on his smile in delight, and he pulled Aziraphale closer in an attempt to wipe the smug look from his face. It worked, but only long enough for Aziraphale to find his grounding again and move his hands from Crowley’s hair to the ties of his shirt. His fingers fumbled trying to pull them apart, and Crowley did the same with their lips.

“Hold on,” he murmured, but Aziraphale just whined when they broke apart and moved in to place his lips on Crowley’s again. He couldn’t help but give in, indulging him in a second kiss that was just as desperate as the first. When they finally broke again for air, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hands at the wrists and held them still. “I’m serious. Hold on.” He panted, desperate for air. His face was flushed, and his hair was mussed, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel pride at the sight of his red, kiss-bruised lips. He dove in to start kissing Crowley’s neck but he was held back.

_”Aziraphale,”_ Crowley hissed, and his companion eased up. “I... shouldn’t.... shouldn’t we talk about this first?”

“Since when do fierce pirate captains who are hell-bent on striking fear and arousal into the hearts of maidens concerned with _talking_ first?” He pouted, and Crowley couldn’t help but give him an indulgent chuckle.

“I’m serious,” he pulled Aziraphale’s hand up by the wrist and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. “Not that I’m not enjoying kissing you, but we’ve been drinking and we’re both emotionally vulnerable. And–“ He seemed to tense suddenly.

“What is it?” Aziraphale asked, scooting closer to him, letting his fingers come up and rest on his cheek once again. Crowley leaned into the touch.

“You know I hate your entire way of life.”

“Yes, dear, I’m very aware of that,” Aziraphale laughed, “So do I. We’re on the same page.”

“Yeah, for now,” Crowley looks up into his eyes, his own uncovered and purely vulnerable. “What happens if you change your mind and decide to go back? Decide that this rough and tumble life isn’t for you, and you’d rather go back and get married? You’ll... you’ll never...” He looked down and took a deep breath. “You’ll be ruined.”

A chill ran down Aziraphale’s spine. “Well first of all,” he swallowed, trying to find the right words, “I’m not leaving you. I don’t think I could ever leave.” All of his doubts from earlier suddenly found themselves evaporating into thin air. “For the first time in my life, I have found a home,” he whispered, pulling Crowley’s face close to his so he could press their foreheads together. Crowley couldn’t help but look into his eyes then. “This is the first place that I have ever felt I belonged, because everyone belongs with you. You make us all feel safe and loved, and that’s not something I could ever give up now that I’ve found it.” He kissed the bridge of Crowley’s nose, and golden eyes fluttered closed at the impossibly-soft gesture. 

“And what’s more,” he continued, “I am willingly offering myself to you. You could never ruin me, because this isn’t just lust for me. Perhaps the same isn’t true for you, but this is me willingly offering myself to my first and only love.”

“Of course it’s true for me,” Crowley murmured, opening his eyes but unable to look into Aziraphale’s. “What, just because I’m a pirate I’ll take any maiden I see?” his words were suddenly bitter, as if he was accusing Aziraphale of something.

“Hush, you know that’s not what I meant,” Aziraphale pressed a gentle kiss to the skin under Crowley’s ear, earning him a shudder in response. “I am the first adult you’ve formed a real connection with in quite a while, I assume, and I’m just worried that you’re confusing friendship with romance.”

Crowley shook his head and took a breath, finally looking up at Aziraphale. “No,” he said, still shaky. “No this isn’t just friendship. I can’t...” he turned pink in the cheeks. “I... erg.... I can’tstopthinkingaboutyouandhowprettyyouareandhowyoureyesshineinthemoonlightand–” Aziraphale took half a second to process the rapid-fire words and decide to just cut him off with another eager kiss.

They were less desperate this time; more calculated. Crowley’s hands wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him as close as he could without putting him on his lap. Aziraphale’s hands were back in Crowley’s hair, weaving in and out between the copper coils. Crowley made a happy little sigh, then leaned in closer and caught Aziraphale’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging slightly and earning a whine from Aziraphale that reverberated into his very core. He pulled back, letting Aziraphale catch his breath, then dove in once more, his tongue pushing into Aziraphale’s mouth and licking into him, and Aziraphale turned to jelly in his arms. He leaned back against the pillows, using his grip on Crowley’s hair to pull him down on top of him. He was indulged, of course, Crowley only pulling away from him for long enough to sit up and pull his shirt off over his head. 

Within a second, Aziraphale’s hands were on Crowley’s chest, mapping each and every inch of flesh before him. His shoulders were covered in a smattering of freckles, and he wanted to sit up and kiss every single one, studying them the way Crowley would study a star map to navigate. This thought consumed him until he felt a pair of warm, wet, kiss-plumped lips on his neck worshiping the creamy skin.

“Anthony,” he whined, his hips arching off the surface of the mattress. Crowley’s hands rested on each of Aziraphale’s hips, holding them down, then he parted his soft, sweet thighs so that he could sit between them. “My darling,” Aziraphale hummed, slowly getting used to the feeling of lips on his neck. “My dearest darling.”

A whine fell from Crowley’s lips, and then a carnal surge came out of him and demanded that he pull back long enough to divest his angel of his shirt. His lips found their way back on to his neck, then explored down his soft middle. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, and Aziraphale’s fingers went back into his hair. 

“So are you, darling.” He may have been the blushing virgin, but he was no fool. He could see the effect his words were having on his love, the proof right there straining against black breeches. “Perfect and wonderful and lovely. That feels so good,” his legs found their way around Crowley’s waist, wrapping around his bony hips and fitting like a puzzle. He could feel Crowley against him, his desire so near his own. He could almost explode from the overwhelming sensation of love and desire and pure, carnal _need_. “Anthony, darling.”

Crowley stopped his ministrations and looked Aziraphale in the eye–oh God, Aziraphale would never grow tired of looking into those pools of pure gold–and a wave of worry crossed his face. “What’s wrong, Angel?” 

“Absolutely nothing,” he reached up and cupped Crowley’s cheek. “It’s just... um...”

“You’ve never done this before.” He finished. Aziraphale nodded. “I know. I figured as much. If you want to stop, that’s okay. We don’t have to.”

Aziraphale shook his head and gently stroked Crowley’s cheek with his thumb. “I want to,” he said, baring his soul once more. “I have never wanted anything quite as much as I want you. Just... well... go slow.” 

“Of course, Angel,” he took Aziraphale by the wrist and placed a kiss on his palm. “You set the pace. I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

A smile found its way back on to Aziraphale’s lips and he pulled Anthony back down for another deep, warm kiss. 

\--

Light poured in through the window, illuminating the two figures that were lying in the bed, the softer body curled up close on top of the longer one. Crowley had his arm curled protectively around Aziraphale’s waist, and his nose was buried in his soft, blonde curls. When the sun moved enough to land on his face, he groaned as he woke and lifted his free hand to cover his face from the beam of light.

There is a moment, right as you wake up, where you dwell between time and space, unaware of your dreams, the time, even your own name and history. Aziraphale dwelled in that space as his mind woke when Crowley shifted, piecing together the puzzle of who he was and what on earth was this other person doing in his bed?

It flooded back. It wasn’t his bed; it was Crowley’s. Anthony’s. Anthony, who had borne his soul to Aziraphale the night before. Who had kissed the lights out of him. Who had held him in his arms and made love to him until they were both spent and exhausted, having the energy left to do nothing but fall into each other’s arms. 

Crowley felt Aziraphale shift in his arms and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Good morning,” he murmured, then waited. For rejection, for denial, for regret. 

It didn’t come. 

Aziraphale leaned his head up and captured his lips in a soft, chaste kiss. “Good morning my love,” he whispered, and a flood of pure adoration flowed through Crowley. He could do nothing to prevent the smile tugging at his lips, and he ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Don’t you have work to do?” Crowley teased, getting a scoff and a gentle slap to the arm from Aziraphale. 

“Work and sex, is that all I’m good for?” Aziraphale admonished, but there was no heat in his words. It was fun, this teasing. Domestic.

Crowley captured him in another soft kiss before sitting up. “Of course not, but your boy will be wondering where you are.”

“It’s certainly not the first time I’ve overslept,” Aziraphale chuckled and moved to sit up. Suddenly, he was wincing and Crowley’s hand was on his lower back, rubbing reassuring circles.

“Sorry about that,” Crowley murmured, pink flush rising to his cheeks. 

Blue eyes looked up at him, mischief behind them. “My darling,” Aziraphale cooed, “don’t you ever apologize for this. I’ll be carrying a reminder of you with me all day, just as you will of me.” He reached up and brushed his finger against the dark spot he’d left on Crowley’s chest. “I’d make sure your shirt was laced up if I were you,” he chuckled, and the blush on Crowley’s cheeks turned darker.

“Cheeky bastard,” he murmured, and gave Aziraphale another kiss to wipe the smirk off his face.

Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around his neck, and they fell back together against the pillows.

\--

When they finally managed to pull themselves out of bed, Aziraphale dressed and gave Crowley one more kiss before going towards the kitchens. Breakfast was already made, and Warlock was sitting on top of the counter with his legs swinging off the edge and his arms crossed protectively over his chest. “You’re late.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, suddenly nervous. They hadn’t discussed whether or not to disclose their change in relationship to the crew, and any excuse suddenly left him. “Yes, well,” he murmured, looking away, fumbling for some kind of reason. “Well you see, I was–“

“Up all night kissing the captain,” Warlock finished. “Adam’s room is next to his. And Pepper saw you two up on the top sail after dinner.”

Pink flooded Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Oh good,” he murmured, unsure of what to say next. “Ah. Yes, well, that’s what happened. We were sitting and talking and... ah, kissed. A bit. But mostly talked,” it was a bold-faced lie, and he only hoped that the boy didn’t know enough to call him on it.

Warlock didn’t seem to press it. “Do you love him?”

“Sorry?” Well, of all the questions, he hadn’t anticipated that one.

“The captain. Do you love him? You must if you’re gonna kiss him all night.”

Aziraphale thought about that. The children on the _Bentley_ were all very observant, and Crowley always answered their questions honestly. “Yes,” he said, the word coming out more easily than anything else he had ever said. “Yes, I do rather. I love him very much.”

A smile tugged at Warlock’s face. “Good. I’m glad you two figured it out.”

Well that threw him off. “What was that?”

“You two have been dancing around each other for weeks. We made bets on how long it would take for you to figure out you loved each other.”

Aziraphale looked almost startled when his mind wrapped around what Warlock had said. “I... well... you... uh... _bets?_”

“Only pocket money.” Warlock jumped down from the counter and went to get dishes out. “You were late. You’re gonna set tables. Just because you’re the ship mum now doesn’t mean you don’t have to work.”

“The ship _what?_.”

“We’ve been calling Captain Crowley ‘Dad’ behind his back forever. And if you love him, then that makes you the ship mum.” He handed Aziraphale the stack of bowls. “I’m gonna go ring the bell.” 

The boy scampered off, leaving Aziraphale standing in the kitchen feeling somehow both warm in the heart and thoroughly confused.

After taking a moment to gather his wits, he went out into the mess and started setting places. He faintly made out the sound of the bell being rung, and before he knew what was happening, Anathema was at his side.”

“You didn’t come in last night,” she said, accusingly.

“I got held up, I’m afraid.”

“Held up against the wall?”

He turned pink in the cheeks again and halfheartedly threw a rag at her, which she just caught with a knowing smirk. “Aziraphale, honey, there are no secrets on this ship. Pepper saw you drinking together, Adam heard you making _noises,_ and I share a room with you.”

“I’m so glad you all know my personal business,” he bristled, but his heart wasn’t in it. He still felt warm-hearted from being held all night and still felt that delightful soreness every time he took a step. He felt thoroughly loved and worshipped, and no amount of teasing could take that away from him.

Anathema’s teasing demeanor faded for a moment, as she turned over everything she knew in her head. Should she scold him for running into the arms of the first man he met? Should she warn him off of being with someone with such a dangerous reputation? Should... should she tell him that Crowley wasn’t who he thought he was?”

Aziraphale suddenly had a smile on his lips. “He really is a wonderful person, Anathema. His heart is so good, and we have so very much in common. I know he seems brash, but he really is a gentle soul just wanting to be understood like anyone else. And I love him, I do. I know it’s not what I was supposed to do, but I find I can’t help it. I love him so very much, and he feels quite the same about me. It’s like...” he searched through the air for a metaphor, “it’s as if I have been missing a piece for my entire life and suddenly I’ve found it in him.”

A gentle smile found its way to Anathema’s lips, and she realized that for now, at least, it would be best to hold her tongue. Sit on what she knew until the right time. “Alright,” she found herself saying, “as long as you’re happy. Just be smart about it.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale beamed and turned to finish setting places.

The stream of children ran in not long after, four smiling faces and one perturbed one. Pepper was the one who ran up to him first, putting her hands on her hips and staring him down. “Warlock says you’re trying to move in on the Captain.”

“You’re not allowed to do that until we approve of you,” Brian chimed in after, standing right behind her. 

“I thought we already agreed that we do approve,” piped up Wensley from where he was hanging off of Anathema. She ran her fingers through his hair affectionately.

Pepper dropped the interrogation act and turned to Wensley. “We weren’t going to _tell_ him that. We were supposed to make him worried for a while to give him one last chance to back out. See if he’s worthy.”

“He’s not going to back out,” Adam mumbled from his spot. Where his friends had been excited when they ran in, Adam had trudged over to his spot at the table and sat, facing away from all of them. He was staring at a spot on the table and was running his finger over it. “He loves him too much. Right, princess?”

Aziraphale felt something twist inside of him. “I do,” he nodded. “Your captain is a very good man and I love him very much.”

“My ears are burning,” Crowley grinned, stepping into the mess. As always, he was a picture in black, his hair falling in its natural curls down his back, not tied back for once. His glasses were back on over his eyes, which disappointed Aziraphale, but the general sight of him made hiss heart clench with pure joy and adoration. Crowley crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his hand protectively around Aziraphale’s waist. “Right,” he said. “You’re all very intuitive, I knew you were gonna pick up on things fast. When I finish, I will open the floor for thirty seconds of jokes, so get them together now. In the meantime,” he looks at all of the children, his eyes landing on Adam last and for the longest. “A few clarifications. Yes, Aziraphale and I love each other. We’re very happy together. This does not change anything about day to day life. Adam is still his superior. There will be no favoritism.”

“Not even a bit?” Aziraphale teased, his hand curling into Crowley’s shirt.

“’Fraid not, Angel,” he chuckled, placing a quick kiss on the top of his head.

Pepper and Warlock looked at each other and pretended to gag, unable to control their giggles.

“Secondly,” Crowley said, smile unable to contain itself, “you are still not allowed to refer to me as ‘Dad’ nor are you to refer to Aziraphale as ‘Mum.’”

“Yes, you’re to reverse them,” Aziraphale said cheekily.

“Angel, no.”

“Angel, yes.”

“_Thirdly,_” he said, giving a warning look to all of them, “this doesn’t change the policy of not trusting anyone in power. You’ve all still got to be careful and not fall too quickly to trust them just because one of them turned out to be okay.”

“Oh, so we’re still not supposed to trust them, but you get to shack up with one,” Adam said, still not looking up from the spot on the table and with bite in his voice. 

“Adam,” Crowley said, warningly. 

“You’re such a hypocrite! You’ve given me the same lesson my whole life and now you’re just gonna throw it all out the window?” He stood up quickly from the table and, still not looking at them, left the mess without another word. Crowley watched him go, his heart torn between anger, frustration, and guilt.

Aziraphale unwrapped himself from Crowley’s side. “Go,” he said, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll save your breakfast. Go talk to him.” 

Crowley nodded and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand before slipping out after Adam.

\--

The tears were hot running down Adam’s face, and rolled down off his cheeks and down, down, down over the rails and on to the deck far below him. He was curled up by the top sail again, looking out on the endless waters and trying to make sense of the world.

He registered the sound of climbing steps, then looked over and caught sight of black and red climbing on to the deck. “Go away,” he murmured, wiping his tears on the back of his arm.

“I know you’re upset with me,” Crowley said, sitting next to him and crossing his legs. “I know how this looks. It’s hypocritical of me, it goes against everything I’ve ever believed. Everything I’ve ever taught you.”

“Warlock was one thing,” Adam said, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “He’s a kid. He didn’t have a say in it.”

“Neither did Aziraphale,” Crowley tells him. “He’s been just as powerless as Warlock was. Being pushed around and ignored when he wasn’t being useful.”

“How can you know that? How do you know he’s not just lying to you to get sympathy?”

Very slowly, Crowley reached out and placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Because I’ve looked in his eyes. It doesn’t matter how good a liar someone is, their eyes will always give them away. I talked to him, Adam. Listened to him. Let him trust me and bare his soul to me. As much as I preach not trusting people, you have to learn how to read them. Listen and watch and try to understand them. And he’s just–“ he fumbled for the words here, “so damn genuine and sweet and needs to be loved and valued, just like everyone else on this ship. He needs a home, just like the rest of us.”

Adam’s lip quivered, and he unwrapped his gangly limbs so he could sit next to Crowley and curl up at his side. Crowley’s fingers ran through his hair reassuringly. “I know this goes against our entire worldview. I’m still battling with it. It feels wrong, I feel guilty. I feel like a traitor, and I’m sure that’s what you think of me too, and I don’t blame you.” 

Adam sat with him, watching out over the rails and at the expanses of the sea that he thought of as home. “...Have I been too harsh on him?”

“I think he understands your hesitation, but it would be good if you loosened up a bit, yeah?”

The boy sat there, curled up close to the closest thing he had to a parent and taking in the sights and sounds of the closest thing he had to a home. Breakfast was winding down, and he could see his friends leaving the mess and starting their work for the day. He heard Brian laughing at one of Anathema’s jokes, and he could make out Pepper and Wensley getting in to one of their daily scuffles. Warlock and Aziraphale were sweeping out the mess and Dog was stalking Jasmine, but not daring to actually start anything.

Aziraphale really had infiltrated their lives, for good or for bad.

“I’ll be less mean,” he compromised, “but I’m not going to love him like the others do. I don’t trust him yet.”

“That’s alright,” Crowley said. “Make him earn it. But don’t be nasty for no reason. He’s so desperate to make peace with you. Can you work on that?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, wiping his face one more time. 

“Thanks,” Crowley said, and he pressed a soft kiss into his mop of hair before getting to his feet and offering Adam a hand. “Right. Let’s go get to work.”

Adam took it and followed him down.

\--

Gabriel stepped into the foyer of the castle, dressed sharply in his Uniform, decked in all the regalia suitable for a king. His boots were caked in dirt, and he stepped out of them in the doorway, making a gesture at one of the hall boys that they were to be taken to his valet for cleaning. He saw a figure approach from around the corridor, and he nodded in acknowledgment when he recognized the face. “Wife,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in whatever was tucked under her arm. 

“Gabriel,” she returned, “This arrived for you while you were out,” she said, handing him a letter wrapped in a creamy envelope and stamped with a seal he recognized in an instant.

“Thank you Beelzebub,” Gabriel said, giving her a curt, unfeeling kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got work to complete. I’m not to be bothered.”

“Of course,” she said, but made no motion to move, far too interested by the contents of the letter. She too, had recognized the seal.

Just this once, he decided to indulge her. He snapped his fingers, and the same hall boy brought him a letter opener. He dug the blade in and cut the envelope, pulling the letter out and scanning his eyes over the page.

“What is it?” Beelzebub asked, trying not to show her interest.

Gabriel cleared his throat and made sure no prying ears were listening before reading the letter aloud. _”’Your majesty, I send news on the location of your brother, the prince Aziraphale.’”_

Beelzebub perked up. “Where is he?”

“I’m getting to that. _’At my current station in the Kingdom Inferna,’_” he looked up at Beelzebub here at the mention of her dominion, _”’I spotted him in the marketplace on the morning of September the ninth. He was accompanied by a foul pirate whom I have identified as the Captain Crowley of the ship _Bentley._ I made no move to approach him, as he got into an altercation with a guard and fled the scene before I had the chance to approach. I have reason to suspect that he is still in the company of Captain Crowley and is currently being held as his hostage. More news will follow if it comes.’”_ He looked up and folded the letter.

“September was weeks ago,” Beelzebub snarled. “Inferna is only a day’s ride, why did it take so long for the letter to arrive?”

“I’m not sure,” Gabriel tucked the letter into his breast pocket. “I’ll be investigating further. In the meantime, I’m going to have to send ships out to find this damn _Bentley._”

Beelzebub nodded. “I’ll put people on the ground in Inferna looking for any signs of him.”

“Good idea,” Gabriel murmured. “Soon enough he’ll be back, and we can call Prince Newton back to take him off our hands. If they even still want him, who knows what those _Savages_ have done to him at this point.”

“Patience, my king,” she circled him, formulating something in her head. “It will resolve itself soon enough, I’m certain.” She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, a sign of reassurance rather than one of affection. “You’ll have your little pawn back before you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are valued and appreciated from constructive criticism, to incoherent rambling, to the humble '<3' I respond to every single one!   
Come bother me on tumblr over @ senseofenterprise


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said updates were gonna slow down? And now I'm giving you two chapters in one day? Crazy. Insane. Absolute madness, luv. One more chapter after this!

Sweat poured down Crowley’s forehead, dripping down to his neck and being soaked up into his shirt. His eyes were narrowed behind their glasses, focusing on Aziraphale and the way he was stepping. He thrust towards him, rapier reflecting the bright sun that hung in the sky above them. Aziraphale blocked the advance, taking a step backwards. “Good,” Aziraphale coached, face blank and focused. “Two steps ahead, watch my eyes. Figure out what I’m going to do next.”

“Easier said than done,” Crowley said between gritted teeth, leaning out of the way of his lover’s attack, “your face is a stone. I can’t learn what you’re going to do next when you won’t show me.”

“Don’t watch my face then,” he tutted. “You should know my tells by now, my darling.” He switched his rapier over to his left hand and shed Crowley’s attack, taking the upper hand back before Crowley could make more than one single thrust. “Come on, you can do it.”

He closed his eyes for just a second, grounding himself in the moment before opening them and taking Aziraphale in. He dodged blow after blow, using the time on the defensive to watch Aziraphale. He was moving towards Crowley, sure, but his knees were bent as if he were preparing to jump back. Crowley looked back up and beat him to it, stepping out of the way so Aziraphale’s swing hit nothing and quickly dealt him a blow that he had no choice but to block. Crowley, finally having the upper hand, advanced towards him, his feet quick as a dancer’s.

“Good,” Aziraphale smiled for him, and Crowley had to push down the fluttering in his chest so he could focus. His blows kept coming and he noticed, with some satisfaction, that when he pulled back for a moment, Aziraphale moved his rapier back to his right hand.

“No more letting me win, huh?” He laughed, and Aziraphale did so love that laugh. It brought a smile to his face, even as he was blocking blows. 

“Who says I’m not still letting you win, just not as obviously?” He ducked when he got the chance, then advanced on Crowley, watching him grow frantic for a second as he began to step backwards.

“Come on Captain,” Warlock called out from where he and the rest of the crew were watching from an upper deck.

“Don’t let him distract you,” Brian shouted. “That’s how you mess up!”

Aziraphale bit his lip in concentration, and Crowley’s knees grew weak for a second. “He’s right, darling. You talk and drop your focus and I take the upper hand back.” He dealt a particularly quick blow, and Crowley found himself leaning back, his sword pressing hard against Aziraphale’s to keep it from hitting him. Crowley bared his teeth and summoned his strength, pushing back until his sword shed, then stepped aside to get his balance back before advancing on Aziraphale. 

His feet were quicker than Aziraphale’s. It was a useful advantage. Aziraphale found himself tripping over his own feet as Crowley advanced, each blow coming quicker than the last. He was focused now, and didn’t even register the sound of children cheering for him in the decks above. 

Eventually, Aziraphale gave out, holding his hands up in surrender as he stopped to catch his breath. “Peace,” he laughs between pants. “Well done, darling. You’ve finally beat me.” 

Crowley chuckled victoriously and held his sword up in the air, looking up to take in the sight of his adoring fans. Even Adam was up there, whooping excitedly and jumping with joy on his behalf. Warlock looked a bit put out, but he was still smiling and clapping for Crowley’s victory. After making a very dramatic bow for the benefit of his audience, he set his rapier down and wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him close. “Where’s my prize, Angel?”

A musical laugh fell from Aziraphale’s lips. “The satisfaction of having beaten me isn’t enough for you? It took you nearly five months to do so.”

“Not nearly enough,” Crowley smirked, pulling him even closer. A warm hand cupped his cheek, and he was rewarded with a soft, adoring kiss from Aziraphale. More whooping came from the deck, more teasing than victorious this time. 

When they pulled apart, Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes, his blue ones reflecting the sunlight and absolutely dazzling Crowley. The pirate couldn’t help but lean back in and press another soft kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “Right,” he said after a moment. “Fancy a drink, Angel?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he pulled away from Crowley’s hold and picked up his rapier. “Perhaps we could polish the swords as well.”

“They can wait until you’ve put your feet up, Aziraphale.”

“Not the swords I meant,” he whispered in a low voice, sly smile on his lips. Crowley turned pink at the cheeks and walked hand in hand with Aziraphale into the Captain’s quarters. Well... these days they were more the Captain and Cook’s quarters. Ah well, potato tomato.

\--

It was late in the afternoon. Aziraphale had instructed Warlock to play until dinner, assuring him that he had the preparation under control. He was kneading bread dough now, and a stew was simmering away in the large copper pot over the coal oven. He hummed to himself as he worked, a thoughtless melody filling the kitchen.

A head poked in the door and was followed by a knock to the wooden frame. Aziraphale looked up and smiled at the sight of Anathema. “Oh good,” he said, lighting up, “Come help me knead the other half of this dough.”

She rolled up her sleeves as she crossed the room and joined him on the other side of the counter. “Where’s Warlock?”

“Thursday afternoons I take over. Give him a little extra time to be with everyone else before the sun sets. And Crowley and Adam are working, so I’m quite on my own in here,” he chuckled, flouring the surface of the counter for her before sliding over the other half of the dough. 

With clumsy uncertainty, she pulled it out of its basket and began to mimic Aziraphale’s motions. Poorly. “So,” she broached, uncertain of how to ease into the difficult topic pressing at the forefront of her mind. “I don’t see as much of you since we stopped sharing a room.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Aziraphale asked, turning his head to look at her. “I thought you’d appreciate the space to yourself. And not sharing with the opposite sex anymore.”

“Nono, it’s not that I mind being on my own,” she said, sidetracked by Aziraphale’s ability to keep kneading even without looking at the dough. “Wow. I never would have thought cooking was your hidden talent, but here you are.”

“I wouldn’t say talent,” he chuckled, turning his attention back to his workspace. “I just picked up the basics from observation and I’ve done a little experimenting on my own. It’s no different than any of your sciences.”

“I guess that’s true,” she focused on the dough, still uncertain of how to say what she was thinking. Did she even have to bring it up? It’s not as if she had any proof, after all. It may have just been a story. Something to entertain her at bedtime. And even if it was true, who’s to say that it was the same person? There are probably plenty of red-haired, yellow-eyed male people around their late twenties in the surrounding kingdoms, right? There’s no evidence at all that Captain Crowley was even connected; it was probably somebody else.

Yeah, she wasn’t so convinced by her logic, either.

“Is there something that brought you in here my dear?” Aziraphale asked, pulling her out of her reverie. “Or you just felt like a chat?”

“Something like that,” she said, giving him an uncertain smile. “So, how’s life with the captain? Definitely not something I anticipated when all this started.”

“No, nor did I,” he chuckled, and while he was smiling, his body seemed to tense at the mention of Crowley. “I find it’s the most natural and comfortable thing I’ve ever done, being with him. It’s wonderful, feeling so wholly loved.”

“Not something you’re used to, I know.” She watched him, keeping a careful eye on his body language, but unsure of whether or not to mention it. “It’s good, then?”

“It’s wonderful. I love him,” Aziraphale bit his lip. He stopped his kneading for the first time since Anathema walked in and looked up. Quickly, he made a scan of the kitchen, and crossed the floor to close the door.

Anathema’s eyes widened. “Oh. Okay. Whatever you’re about to say is serious. Not big on closed doors on this ship.”

Aziraphale returned to his place behind the counter and took her hand. “Anathema, dear, can you keep a secret?” He asked, voice low enough that if anyone were to pass by the kitchen, they would not hear him.

“Of course. I kept your last secret” she said, voice equally quiet. She had not anticipated this when she walked in, but now she was hooked, leaning in close to him and listening with rapt attention.

Body still tense, Aziraphale took a few deep breaths to steady himself. “Right, of course. Um... yes, well. This is going to sound silly.”

“I didn’t think your last secret was silly. You can tell me.” She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

He looked up at her and into her eyes. “I find I’m completely wracked with guilt.” Once the words were out, he seemed to relax a bit, but he was still tense.

“Guilt about what?”

“About running away. I don’t regret it, of course I don’t. But I have grown up with a singular destiny and duty to perform, and I fled from it like a coward. I had dreams, Anathema. Dreams of making a change in the way Arcadia was run. Make a marriage that could help people, do whatever I could to help my people and instead I just ran away off into the sunset.”

“You didn’t have any power anyway,” she reminds him, not to demean but to reassure. “Marriage to Prince Newton wouldn’t have helped anything but the King’s army. It wasn’t the right decision.”

“Neither was running away,” he says, biting his lip. “What if I’d pushed back and found a suitable marriage that would have actually been beneficial? Of course, I wouldn’t have been as happy as I am with Anthony, but I still would have been doing the duty that my birth mandates, and perhaps I could have spread my usefulness further. Perhaps I should go back. I know it would break Crowley’s heart, but I would feel so much less guilt, and he’d be in less trouble if he wasn’t harboring me anymore.”

Anathema wasn’t listening anymore. She hadn’t been for a few seconds. She was still hung up on the delivery of the last puzzle piece into her lap.

_”Anthony?”_ she asked, the word thick in her throat.

“What? Oh, yes. That’s Crowley’s birth name. Crowley isn’t a name at all, it’s more of a title passed down to each generation when the previous captain retires. Oh dear, I hope he won’t be cross that I told you. It was quite a vulnerable thing for him to tell me.”

Anathema grabbed on to the counter to steady herself.

“Anathema, dear, are you quite alright? Do you need something to drink?”

She shook her head. “I need to tell you something. The Captain too. Now.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows narrowed. “Are you alright? Are you ill?”

She shook her head again and stood up straight, taking a breath to steady herself. “I really need to talk to you both. Now.”

“O-oh. Yes. Alright,” he wiped his flour-covered hands on his breeches and moved the pot off of the stove. “Alright, let’s go.” He took her hand, not trusting her to walk in this state, and led her down to Crowley’s quarters. 

He knocked on the door before walking in, even though it was now just as much his room as it was Crowley’s. The pirate looked up from his desk at the door, and Adam did the same. “So sorry to interrupt,” Aziraphale said, “I know what you’re doing is important, but Anathema here was quite insistent that she needs a word with us.”

Crowley brushed them off. “Nothing that can’t wait. Who’s ‘us’?”

“You and Aziraphale,” she said, looking at Adam. “Sorry, I know you don’t want to be kicked out, but this is really important.”

“That’s alright Anathema.” He jumped off the desk where he had been sitting. “I’ll see you after dinner, Captain.”

Crowley gave him a mock salute and gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk, then closed the door as Aziraphale and Anathema sat in them. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a demon.”

The words felt like molten lead in her throat. “I uh, I don’t know how to start.”

“Just start at the beginning,” Aziraphale said, squeezing her hand. She swallowed hard and looked at both of them before taking a few more steadying breaths.

“Need a drink first?” Crowley offered, moving to pull the bottle out of his desk.

She shook her head. “I’m okay. Uh, right, so um...” she twirled a lock of hair around her finger, a nervous twitch. “This is going to sound convoluted, just hang on with me until the end.” 

Crowley sat on top of his desk and crossed his legs. “I’m all ears.”

“So um,” she looks at a spot on the wall behind Crowley, finding herself unable to look at him directly. “I have this aunt. My mother’s sister. She’s an apothecary by trade, but she used to work as a midwife. Spinster. Her name is Agnes. The kind of woman most people refer to as a witch. And um,” she closed her eyes and took another breath. “There was this story she used to tell me when I was growing up that I think you need to hear.”

“You kicked Adam out and ran in here panicking to tell us a bedtime story?” Crowley asked, brows furrowed together.

Anathema shook her head. “Well, yeah but seriously, it’s important.”

“We’re listening,” Aziraphale said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. 

“So,” she said, trying to figure out how to begin, “The kingdom Inferna, where we were a few months ago. They’re ruled by Aziraphale’s brother the king of Arcadia, because of his marriage to their queen, right?” Aziraphale nodded. “She was the heir to Inferna’s throne because she was the niece of their last king who died childless.”

“Right,” Crowley said, knowing the story but not sure where she was going with it.

“Right,” she continued, “Except that he didn’t. His wife the queen had a few pregnancies, but only one ever lasted to term. My aunt was one of the midwives present.”

“Nasty story,” Aziraphale said, looking up at Crowley. “Babe was stillborn, and the queen nearly died.” Crowley winced.

“Except that’s not what happened,” Anathema said, biting her lip. “The baby was live and healthy. Kicked and screamed, was all correct, he was a healthy, perfect heir just like they always needed.” She moved her finger to another lock of hair, twisting it up now. “But then they realized there was something wrong with it. The king saw it as demon’s spawn and commanded that it was killed,” silence fell over the room and she felt both the men’s eyes on her. “And he spread the story that it was stillborn. But when he was gone, the queen grabbed my aunt by the arm and pleaded for her to take the baby somewhere safe and out of sight so it could live.”

“The poor thing,” Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley moved behind him to rest his hands reassuringly on his shoulders. 

“So,” Anathema looked up at them finally, “my aunt smuggled the baby out of the castle and dropped it off at a nearby convent.”

Crowley tensed. 

“What was wrong with the baby that warranted it being... disposed of?” Aziraphale asked.

Anathema looked like she was going to vomit out of sheer nervousness. “...My aunt told me that the baby had bright red hair and...” she took another shaky breath. “And yellow eyes. With slitted pupils. Snake eyes.” Her gaze snapped back down to her hands in her lap, unable to watch what was unfolding next to her.

Aziraphale took a second to process, then looked up at Crowley. “Darling?” He asked, putting his hand on top of Crowley’s. The pirate didn’t move, seemingly frozen in place. His whole body was tense, and each of his slow breaths were the only noise that could be heard in the room. Suddenly, his teeth were bared and he was snarling. “Is this some kind of a sick joke? Aziraphale told you about my eyes and now you’re trying to start something? Feed me this bullshit story and watch me flounder about? Huh? What exactly are you trying to accomplish.” He pulled his hands off Aziraphale’s shoulders and began to advance on Anathema, who felt closer to panicking than she had on the night he had grabbed, gagged, and thrown her out the window.

She shook her head desperately. “No joke! I’m not starting anything! I-I don’t have any way of proving any of this I-I just-“ 

The looming presence over her disappeared when Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the wrists and pulled him off of her.

“Stop it,” he scolded. “You’re scaring her. She’s not _starting_ anything, it’s not in her nature. If she’s telling you this, she clearly thinks it’s important.”

Anathema took a deep, shaky breath. “There’s one more thing, and it probably disproves anything but um...” she looked up at them finally. “Sh-she uh, she always said the queen had um–she’d made the baby a blanket. With his name embroidered on it.” Both Crowley and Aziraphale tensed at this. “That Agnes wrapped the baby in when she took him out of the castle. It was a white blanket, and it had his name in gold thread. No, not gold, silver. And it said... it said ‘Anthony,’” she said the last few words quietly, knowing the impact they were about to have.

Aziraphale had forgotten how to breathe. Anthony. His Anthony. His Crowley. He... he was... It just couldn’t... He looked at his companion, who was standing completely still. The anger was gone, replaced instead by trembling confusion. He took Crowley’s hand in his and brushed his thumb against the back of it. “Darling?”

Crowley’s lip quivered. “Did... Angel did you tell her?”

Aziraphale shook his head frantically. “No,” he breathed, stepping closer to him. “I haven’t told a soul. You trusted me with it, I would never tell anyone.”

Time stopped. 

Anathema was frozen in her chair. The lovers stood opposite each other, neither knowing what to do next in the world that had dropped a massive bomb on them both.

Knees hit the ground as Crowley collapsed, his body unable to handle the pressure that had just been dropped on it. Tears began to flow, falling from his eyes in streams down his cheeks. Aziraphale finally remembered that he could move.

“Oh my darling,” he knelt in front of Crowley, wiping the tears from his face with the pads of his thumbs. He sat back on his heels and pulled Crowley into his arms, the pirate placing his head on Aziraphale’s chest as his fingers stroked soothingly down his back. “Oh my love, my dearest darling.” He carefully pulled the glasses off of Crowley’s face and set them aside so that Crowley could sob into his chest without them pressing into his face. He swayed gently, knowing there was nothing to do for his love but hold him until the tears stopped.

Anathema looked over at him. “I’m so sorry. I should have said something sooner, I just–“ Aziraphale waved her off. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Anathema. Give us a moment?”

She nodded and rose from her chair, then opened the door and slipped out.

In the hallway, Adam stood, looking through the open door and upon the sight of his parent collapsed, sobbing, his whole body trembling with tremors and tears. He saw Aziraphale with him, his sole focus on Crowley and holding him until he felt strong again.

He’d heard everything Anathema had said. Children had a tendency to eavesdrop, after all. From outside the door, he’d caught every single word. His mind was racing, filled with so many different conflicting emotions. He felt a desire to run in and comfort Crowley, as well as an urge to run away and pretend he’d heard nothing. 

Crowley–his Crowley, the only parent he’d ever had; the one who had taught him everything he knew; the man who had taken him in as an infant when he was still a child himself; who had fed and clothed him and tucked him into bed with lullabies; the one who had instilled every one of Adam’s morals in him, especially the one to never trust anyone of high birth–was a prince. He had the exact same position as Aziraphale. They were equals, far ahead the street rats that usually called the _Bentley_ home. But Crowley was so good, his birth had nothing to do with who he was.

Oh.

A wave of guilt crashed over him, and tears sprung to his eyes. For the first time ever, he saw with clarity who his sworn enemy really was. Aziraphale wasn’t inherently a bad person just because of his position. He had overcome the biases that usually came with his upbringing. He was the kind of person who was eager to learn and listen and understand the opinions of others. He was the kind of person who just wanted to help. He had a heart that was filled with love, and he was just desperate for somebody to return it. And he’d found that person. He was on the floor in his arms now, crying every drop of water in his body as Aziraphale rubbed his back and pressed kisses in his hair and whispered reassurances to him.

He looked up and caught Adam’s eye. “Do you need something Adam?” he asked quietly, and Crowley scrambled for his glasses.

Adam shook his head, unsure of what to do. “No, I don’t need anything.”

“Did you hear any of that?” Aziraphale asked, heart pounding.

Adam nodded, and suddenly he was running into the room and hugging Crowley who had just managed to jam his glasses over his swollen red eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, arms wrapped firmly around Crowley who wrapped his own around him in turn. “To both of you. For eavesdropping. And for being so nasty to you, Aziraphale.”

Blue eyes filled with tears. “Don’t worry about that now,” he smiled softly and put his hand on Adam’s back. “It’s forgiven.”

The boy nodded and looked up at Crowley. “You don’t have to hide your eyes,” he said. “I’ve known since I was three.”

Crowley’s lip quivered, but he slowly took them off and set them aside. He felt raw, open, vulnerable, exposed. “You never said anything.”

“Didn’t seem to matter,” he shrugged. “You’re still my dad, doesn’t matter if you’ve got weird eyes. You’re still the same person. I still love you.”

A lump rose in Crowley’s throat and more tears fell down his face. “I love you too, Adam,” he murmured shakily. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and cleared his throat. “Right. D’you think you and Warlock can get everyone fed without us?”

Adam reluctantly pulled himself away from Crowley and nodded, wiping away the tears on his face. “Yeah. I can handle that.”

“Good lad,” he smiled at him, still looking like an emotional wreck. “Close the door on your way out?”

“Yeah, got it.” He rose from the floor and left, making sure the door was sealed when he left.

The air hung thick with what was unsaid between the two lovers crumpled and tear-stained on the floor.

Crowley found himself crawling back into a pair of loving arms which accepted him gratefully. Aziraphale scooted back against the wall for support and just sat, holding his love close to his chest.

Neither said anything for a good few moments, lost in the same train of thoughts running between them. “We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready,” Aziraphale said first, breaking the silence. “Whatever you need, I will do for you.” He buried his nose in Crowley’s curls, desperate to just smother him in his love and affection

Crowley drew in a shaky breath. “I was wanted,” he whispered. “My mother wanted me. She wanted me to live. The rest doesn’t mean anything.” He swallowed hard, and Aziraphale sat silently, waiting to see if he’d continue. “I mean, obviously it means something, but it’s not as important.” He looked up at Aziraphale who cupped his cheeks and looked back at him as if he were the center of the universe.

“You were wanted,” he reassures him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You were wanted, loved, adored. Not abandoned, rescued. Given a second chance. What a marvelous thing to receive.” 

Crowley’s eyes watered again, and he curled up back in Aziraphale’s arms. “That’s what I’m gonna focus on,” he whispered. “Not the rest. I want to think about the good stuff, not the bad.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Aziraphale whispered, his fingers running up and down Crowley’s back. “Do you want to keep talking about it?” He asked quietly.

“No,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “Not yet. Soon, but not yet. I kind of want to sleep on it.”

“Should we move to the bed, or are you comfortable here?”

“’M fine here,” He nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck, and he was showered in soft kisses. 

“Then I’ll stay right here holding you, and I’ll be here when you wake up, my darling.”

Crowley let his eyes close, exhausted from crying. “I love you, Angel.”

“And I love you.”

Sleep came fast, allowing Crowley a blissful reprieve from the bombardment of thoughts and emotions that had been coursing through him. Aziraphale sat vigil, just holding him close and focusing on the sound of Crowley’s breathing rather than allowing his mind to wander and dwell on the revelation. Crowley slept for a few hours, and Aziraphale stayed right at his side holding him.

They didn’t expect Pepper to come running in after dinner talking about naval ships on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all comments are valued and appreciated from constructive criticism to incoherent rambling to the humble '<3'. I respond to every single one. Come bother me on tumblr over @ senseofenterprise


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding. A battle.

The color drained from Aziraphale’s face and his throat closed. “Naval ships?” He asked, hardly daring to breathe.

Pepper nodded. “With the Arcadian flag flying,” she said, quieter than Aziraphale had ever seen her.

Grip on Crowley tightening, Aziraphale looked up at his lover with panic in his eyes, his body beginning to tremble. “It’s Gabriel. He’s finally caught up with us. Oh God, he’s caught up with us.”

Seemingly unphased, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand and looked up at Pepper. “Go get Adam and everyone else. Bring them in here.”

“Shouldn’t someone keep watch?” Pepper asked, rocking nervously on her feet.

“It can wait. Go get everyone, now.” She knew better than to question a second time and turned on her heels to run out. Crowley rested his hands on Aziraphale’s cheeks and lifted his chin so that he was looking into Crowley’s eyes. “Angel,” he said, and Aziraphale felt the block of anxiety chip away ever so slightly. “He’s going to try to take you back with him, but you won’t be any use to him if you’re already married.”

Aziraphale started, jerking up slightly out of Crowley’s hands. “But I’m not married, Anthony.”

“That’s why I sent for Adam,” he says. “He has the authority to do it. If you’re already my spouse then he won’t be able to use you for his plans. And if that doesn’t stop him,” he bites his lip, unsure of how to bring up what he wants to say next, “if that doesn’t stop him then I want to die your husband.”

At the sound of the word “die,” Aziraphale’s blood ran cold and he felt like he was going to vomit. “Crowley,” he rasped, but he was just pulled back into Crowley’s arms. 

“Angel please,” he whispers, his lips pressed to Aziraphale’s forehead so he can’t see the panic in Crowley’s eyes. “Please do this for me. It might keep you safe and even if it doesn’t–“

“It won’t come to that,” Aziraphale says, looking up at him. “I won’t let it come to that. But I should very much like to be married to you anyway.”

Crowley’s lip trembled and he pressed another kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead, his eyes closing tight in an attempt to keep from crying. “My angel,” he murmured.

They stayed still in each other’s arms, still crumpled on the floor until Anathema and the children came running in. At the sound of footsteps they separated, Crowley rising first and offering Aziraphale a hand to help him back to his feet. Their fingers laced together, and they stayed at each other’s side.

“Adam,” Crowley said, pushing his glasses on. The physical barrier was a necessity, he wasn’t sure he could hold himself together in front of his family without them. “Need a favor.”

“Anything,” Adam said, his voice still raw from crying earlier.

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand. “We want you to marry us. In case something happens.”

“I can do that?” Adam asked, walking towards them.

“Technically, yeah,” Crowley said, placing his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “Sea captains have the authority to officiate weddings that occur out on the water, and when they’re the ones getting married the authority passes on to their first.”

“What do you mean ‘in case something happens’?” Wensley asked, turning his head. “We’ve won lots of battles before.”

“Not against soldiers,” Crowley said, biting his lip. “I’m not going to lie to you guys, this is going to be a more dangerous battle than any of you have seen before. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to stop all the bad guys like I usually do. There’s a chance that I may get hurt, and a chance that you might get hurt, too.” He took a breath to steady himself as the children started looking at each other, trying to find a shred of hope among one of them that the others could all share.

Adam looked back at them. “If this is a more dangerous battle, then we’ll all just be better fighters on the other side of it. We’ve learned how to fight from the greatest pirate in the world, we’ll be able to take on whatever comes.” Anxious minds began to calm, and Adam turned back to Crowley and Aziraphale. “We’re behind you, no matter what.”

“You all have a chance to back out,” Crowley said to them, but squeezed Adam’s shoulder anyway. “Anathema, you’re a civilian, I want you out of harm’s way, got it?”

“No complaints, Captain.”

“Right,” he nodded. “The rest of you?”

Not a single one of them gave a word of protest. They were always given this choice before a fight, the ability to back out if they needed it. Crowley wouldn’t think of them any less if they did, he just needed to be told beforehand. Nobody ever took it, not once in the ship’s long history.

“Thank you,” he swallowed hard.

Beside him, Aziraphale’s lip trembled. “You don’t have to do this; you don’t have to fight for me. I never intended to put any of you in any danger.”

“You’re one of us now,” Brian piped up, “a signed-on real member of our family.”

“We’re fighting for you like we’d fight for any of the rest of us,” said Pepper.

“Like you’d fight for us,” Warlock finished.

He gave them all a watery smile and wiped his eyes before looking at Crowley. “Well darling,” he said, laughing around a sob, “I think they’ve decided you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh I decided that long before they did,” Crowley chuckled, taking him by the hand. “Adam, not to rush you, but we do have a bit of a time constraint.”

“Right,” Adam said, standing between them. “Um... Captain Crowley, do you, uh...”

“Definitely.”

“Right. Aziraphale, do you?”

“Very much so.”

“Good. I now pronounce you the most badass married pirates on the sea. Everyone cover your eyes, they’re allowed to kiss now.”

Crowley threw his head back in a laugh and Aziraphale reached up and cupped his cheeks so he could gaze into those beautiful, golden eyes, then kissed him.

\--

They ran out onto the decks, Crowley and Aziraphale hand in hand leading out Anathema and the children. “Battle stations,” Crowley barked at them. “Now. Brian, Wensley, you’re on the cannons. Anathema, you take the bird’s eye and watch. Pepper, Warlock, and Adam: pick up a sword.” They all knew better than to trust the Captain’s orders; when he was like this, his sole purpose was to keep them safe, and they knew that to listening to him was vital. They fled to their stations, leaving their leader and his husband on the main deck.

Aziraphale attached his scabbard to his hip and slid his rapier inside. “Darling,” he said, his face setting in pure focus. “Let me talk to him first. I want fighting to be the last resort, for your sake and for the crew’s.”

Crowley nodded, taking Aziraphale’s hand and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. “We can give it a shot. I’m staying right here at your side, though. No taking you aside, we stay together.”

“No arguments from me, darling.” He let his eyes shine for Crowley for just a moment before his face hardened again. 

“Incoming!” Anathema called.

The sails were dropped, and the ship stood still for the longest moment of Aziraphale’s life as the other ship came into view. A familiar figure approached the railing of the other naval ship, and when its anchor dropped, he could feel bile rising in his throat.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, giving him a smile that made Crowley’s stomach churn. His grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightened. “Playtime’s over, it’s time to come home Aziraphale.”

“And why, pray tell, would I do that?” Aziraphale asked, cocking his head in feigned confusion. “It’s not as if you actually want me at home, it’s simply a rest stop before you ship me off again. I think it rather makes sense for me to stay here where I’m out of your hair, yes?”

“Don’t make this any harder on yourself. Come quietly and I won’t hurt any of your little friends,” he glanced over Crowley with obvious disdain, and the pirate couldn’t help the snarl that came out of his throat.

“He’s not going anywhere with you.”

Gabriel just ignored him. “Aziraphale, this is your final warning. You’re going to come back with me and do as you’re told, just like always. Okay? You’ve had your little adventure but now it’s time to come back and do your duty. Or have you forgotten? Is your having fun more important than all the people you’ve abandoned, Aziraphale?”

“Remind me what my duty is, Gabriel.” Aziraphale said, voice steady. He squeezed Crowley’s hand before letting it go and stepping forward, standing eye to eye with his brother with rails and sea between them. “To go off peacefully? To bring them more soldiers? More money for more wars that will leave them with more injury and poverty and death than before? Or am I supposed to _help_ them? Make sure that children aren’t dying in the streets of hunger when there’s a castle filled with food right outside their doors?” He set his jaw and looked into Gabriel’s eyes unblinkingly, causing his brother to have to take a step backwards. 

“It’s not me that’s forgotten my duty, Gabriel,” he spat. “A king cares for his people, works for them. Does what he can to protect them and keep them safe. A king doesn’t let children starve until they’re desperate enough to join the army just so that they can be fed twice a day.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to get on this ship right now. You’re going to come quietly and get married to whoever _I_ choose, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut. Otherwise I’m going to authorize my soldiers to come aboard and kill everyone, got that?”

Aziraphale swallowed hard, then turned back to look at his crew. Adam and Warlock gave him looks of pure trust, as did Pepper. The kind of trust that only existed in the unconditional love a child felt for their parent. His eyes darted and landed on Crowley, a silent plea for reassurance.

Crowley took a deep breath. Then he nodded.

Aziraphale’s hard demeanor reappeared before he had even finished turning back around. He had never been brave, especially when it came to his brother. His whole life he had been a pawn; his whole duty to be meek and pretty and be pushed wherever he was told. He never fought back, never spoke out of turn, never voiced his distaste or desires. In this moment, though, he felt himself burning up from the inside, his love for his husband and for his new family was boiling hot and pouring out of him, unable to contain itself. It gave him something to be brave for. It gave him something to fight for. Aziraphale had never been loved until now. Nobody had ever held him close and loved him unconditionally or trusted him with their very soul. Until now. And by God, now that he had it, he would die before he gave it up.  
“I don’t see what good that would do,” Aziraphale smirked, an expression that Gabriel had never seen on him before, “taking me back. I’m quite useless to you as a pawn, considering I’ve already married.”

Rage that had been sitting behind Gabriel’s cold demeanor now boiled white hot and unrestrained. He let out a scream that was heard throughout the whole ship and shook Crowley to his very core. With a wave of his hand, he was jumping on to the _Bentley_ and his soldiers were following after him.

Aziraphale stood at Crowley’s side once again, and both of them drew their swords. “Remember,” Aziraphale whispered to him, “two steps ahead.” Crowley nodded and pulled him into one quick, frantic kiss that conveyed everything he didn’t have the time to say.

Aziraphale leaned into it for perhaps just a second too long before pulling away and looking into his eyes, then dashing off to fight off the approaching horde.

Yellow eyes closed. A deep breath in, then one out. Taking in the feeling of the floor under his feet, the sway that came with the waves. A grounding. His eyes shot open, and he let out a deep, guttural war cry before drawing his sword and running at the closest soldier.

The sound of clanking metal was deafening. The no longer hung in the sky, but the light of the moon bounced off of every sword, illuminating the ship in flashes of silver. Adam was parrying the blows of one of the soldiers, his small stature giving him the advantage of agility; something he desperately needed since his opponent had a good foot on him. He couldn’t have been much older than him, perhaps fourteen. He shed the next blow and took back the advantage, his feet stepping quickly towards him. Looking into the soldier’s eyes, he couldn’t help but think of an alternate story where Crowley had never raised him and he would have been, as Aziraphale had said, so desperate to eat that he would join the war machine. “I’m sorry,” he couldn’t help but say as he tripped him, causing the soldier to fall back off the rails and into the icy depths.

Crowley’s back was pressed to a wall, his arms struggling to keep his sword parallel to his chest to keep the blow from hitting his body. Teeth bared, he looked up at the officer who was pressing down against him. _Two steps ahead,_ he tried to think, but his mind was too clouded. So many things were running through his head, he couldn’t focus. He was scared: for Aziraphale, for his kids, for what would happen to them if he were to be killed. He was shaken to his very core, and he couldn’t think. What he did not foresee was Dog running up and digging his teeth into the ankle of his attacker, causing the officer to draw back with a yelp and try to shake off the determined canine. Once he had the reprieve, it took less than a second for Crowley to get his footing and drive his sword through the soldier, drawing it back out quickly and leaving him to crumple to the ground in a pool of blood. “Good boy,” he shot at Dog before running off to take on the next threat. 

Aziraphale had a body count. Each soldier that approached him had a life, he knew, a family and a story and something that had brought them to the point where they had to join the military to survive. His heart ached, and he was washed in wave after wave of guilt, but he couldn’t let it stop him. When this was over, he would find a way to find penance for this night, but right now he had people to protect. He had a spouse and a best friend and children who _trusted him_ to keep them safe, and he would do whatever it took to do so. Each person who approached him found themselves on the ground within minutes. There was blood on his boots; the boots that Crowley had bought for him. Unlike Crowley, he did not look any of his opponents in the eye. He couldn’t have handled it. Not when there was a chance that he could have looked into a face that he recognized. His heart was racing in his ears and face was still set in stony focus. His feet moved quick and his sword moved quicker. Somewhere he could not see, he heard Crowley cry out, and renewed vigor poured into him, making any tiredness flee his body and be replaced with pure adrenaline. Silver ran through fabric and came back soaked in ruby red. The sound of limbs hitting the floor followed. He glanced up once more and found his heart suddenly in his throat.

He wasn’t ready. He’d been practicing with Adam for months and he’d showed promise with the sword, but he hadn’t been in a battle before like the others had. This was too much, he couldn’t do it. Warlock had been trying his hardest, blocking blows and dodging them when he could, but he wasn’t quick enough to ever take the advantage back. It didn’t help that his opponent was twice his size, either. Suddenly, a memory hit him like lightning and the answer was obvious. He kicked his attacker hard in the shin, causing the soldier to yelp and double over in pain. With the blows stopped, Warlock turned on his heels and started to run.

A hand grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him up off the ground.

“Oh this is cute,” Gabriel laughed, but the sound of it sent chills down Warlock’s spine. “You think this is a play fight, kid? You can just kick someone and run away when you’re scared? Welcome to the real world. When soldiers fight, they aim to kill. Now I didn’t want to start this fight, but your friend over there forced my hand.” Warlock struggled, trying desperately to get out of his grip, but Gabriel was much stronger than the stringy eleven-year-old.

“Let me go!” He cried out, limbs flailing and trying with all of his might to get out of his hold.

“If you say so,” Gabriel said, dropping him to the ground. Warlock fell and started to scramble away, but he found a heavy boot pressing on his chest keeping him from being able to move. Gabriel drew his sword. “Don’t worry kid, your friends won’t be far behind. I’ve got to clean up Aziraphale’s mess, after all. Little brothers, what can you do?”

Warlock threw his arms over his eyes as they clenched shut. His heart lurched as he heard the sound of a sword cutting through flesh.

But he didn’t feel anything.

His eyes shot open and he looked up at Gabriel, whose eyes were locked on the sword jutting out through his stomach. Blood dripped down the side of the sword and on to the floor next to Warlock.

Gabriel turned his head and looked backwards. Aziraphale stood behind his brother, his hand still on the sword that he had just driven through him. The cool focus was gone from his face, replaced instead by pure, unbridled rage and fury. His pupils were blown wide and his whole body heaved with each individual breath. “You,” he said, voice shaking, “You do not _touch_ these children.”

All around them, the fighting had ceased. Each soldier stood still at the sight of their prince driving a sword through their king. Nobody knew what to do next. Adam and Pepper dropped their swords, and Crowley dove in and scooped Warlock off of the ground as Aziraphale drew his rapier out of Gabriel, not even flinching at the sound of his body hitting the floor. 

The calm returned to his face as he returned his sword–still dripping his brother’s blood–to his scabbard. He stepped towards the rail where Crowley was sitting and holding Warlock protectively to his chest. The boy was trembling, his whole body filled with panic. Aziraphale fell to his knees and his features softened. He reached out and gently cupped his cheek, brushing it with his thumb. “Are you alright dear boy? Did he hurt you?”

He shook his head, relaxing a bit with the touch. Crowley watched Aziraphale, eyes blown wide in awe of what he had just witnessed. Aziraphale just pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead before getting back up to his feet. He turned to where Pepper and Adam were lingering, watching with the same stunned silence as Crowley. “What about the two of you? Anything hurt?” He started checking arms and legs for cuts, then counted their fingers.

“Nothing hurt,” Pepper said, finding her voice first.

“Good,” he gave them both a quick squeeze. “Run down and check on Wensley and Brian. Make sure nobody’s hurt.” 

As they ran off to do as they were told, his warm demeanor ran cold once again. Standing straight, he looked at the soldiers that remained and held his hand up. “Consider this a coup. My brother the king is dead, and I am his rightful heir. Please re-board your ship and sail in the direction of Arcadia, and I will follow and take my rightful place as your king.”

Silence rang, deafening, for a few long, arduous moments. Nobody moved save for breathing until one, lone soldier fell to his knees. 

“The king is dead,” he said, and Aziraphale could tell from his voice that he was no more than a boy. “Long live the king.”

Around him, others began to kneel. “Long live the king,” they declared.

“Long live the king,” Crowley said, gazing upon the sight of his husband being bowed to; feared, respected. The farthest thing from powerless or useless that he could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did I tell you all back in chapter two? Don't underestimate Aziraphale.
> 
> Any and all comments are valued and appreciated, from constructive criticism, to incoherent rambling, to the humble '<3' I reply to every single one.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision.

The room was illuminated by the light of a single candle, burning bright on Aziraphale’s desk. The only sound in the room was that of a pen scratching on parchment as Aziraphale wrote out the second most important letter of his life. Anthony sat up from where he had been lying back on the bed and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around his husband and placing a kiss on the side of his head. Aziraphale’s lips turned up at the corners.

It had been two weeks since they’d arrived back in Arcadia, and Aziraphale had seemingly become a different person. He stepped off the _Bentley_ a monarch, his features perpetually commanding and powerful. When he’d arrived in the castle, Crowley at his side and looking like a fish out of water, it had been quick work removing every trace of Gabriel’s reign. His crest had been stripped from the walls, his alliances had been broken, and his room had been cleared out.

He had also made _very_ quick work of tracking down Anathema’s aunt and pulling together every shred of evidence required to have his brother’s wife abdicated and name his husband as the rightful king of Inferna. Not that the change in monarch meant much, it was still to be co-ruled alongside Arcadia by a married couple, it was just the names that changed.

Now, though, he was changing the names once again. It was nearing midnight, and in the morning he was supposed to be walking down the aisle of the cathedral to stand in the presence of the bishop and be coronated officially as the king. _Supposed to be._

Crowley rested his chin on top of Aziraphale’s head, watching as he dripped wax on to the envelope to seal it. This time, he did press his ring into the hot wax to leave his mark behind. “Are you sure about this?” Crowley asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “There’s so much more good that you can do here.”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, leaning back into his hold and closing his eyes. “But Anathema is far more competent than either of us are, and she’ll come up with a great deal more than I will. She’ll make a marvelous queen, I’m sure of it.”

“Nothing says we can’t stay here and just let her advise us.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and tilted his head back to look up at him. Crowley wasn’t wearing his glasses now, he hardly ever did anymore when it was just the two of them. “You aren’t ready to give up the reigns, Anthony, I know you aren’t. And Adam’s not quite ready to take them. Your place right now is on the _Bentley,_ and mine is at your side, wherever that may be.” He turned in his chair and leaned up, capturing Crowley’s lips in a soft, adoring kiss. “I will follow you to the ends of the earth, my most darling one.”

Ears turning pink, Crowley took Aziraphale by the hand and kissed his knuckles before helping him up. “Will you follow me out the window?”

“Gladly,” Aziraphale turned and blew out the candle, leaving the room in darkness save for the silver light of the moon. “Not in my pajamas this time..”

“Thank the stars for that,” Crowley chuckled. He led Aziraphale through the room over to the window and opened it. He looked down where two horses waited, Adam and Warlock sitting on one of them waiting.

“Ready to go, Captain?” Adam called up, his voice low so as to not wake anyone.

“All set,” Crowley called back. He climbed out of the window before helping Aziraphale, then the two of them mounted the horse, Aziraphale sitting behind Crowley with his arms wrapped firmly around his waist. He pressed his cheek to Crowley’s back and breathed in the smell of him, feeling more sure about this decision than he had ever felt of any other he had ever made.

On this night, the kingdom slept soundly in their beds, and so did every soul in the castle. Nobody heard the sound of hoofbeats carrying both their King and King-Consort off towards the sea, away from the lives they had been born into and towards the life they had made for themselves. The one they built together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to every single person who has read this story. I have never taken on a project as ambitious as this and I couldn't have done it without the encouragement you all gave me.  
As always, every single comment is valued and appreciated, from constructive criticism, to incoherent rambling, to the humble '<3'. I reply to every single one.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr over @ senseofenterprise


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